Wolf in Sheep's Clothes
by Jack of All Suits
Summary: The threat of the Sands of Time has faded; or has it? The Dark Prince has fallen back into Babylon, and as the two princes are forced to work together, will they find the Sands still hold sway in the world? -Ch. 2 edited-
1. The Wolf

**Edited for better viewing pleasure, I bring you chapter 1 of Wolf in Sheep's Clothes. I've taken up the challenge of editing ALL of the early chapters to match the quality of those latest ones, and the ones I will(Hopefully) be starting in the very near future. If all goes well I should have one chapter edited per week, but if not, well...**

**Let's hope for less of a wait than last time, aye?**

_**Chapter 1: The Wolf **_

Calculating eyes traced the city wall and a smirk played across a set of full, pale lips. This was far too easy for his liking. He'd expected a challenge–a rush! He had wanted a feeling of accomplishment for breaking into his rival's famed city.

With a rather melodramatic sigh, the man lunged forward and proceeded to perform an alarming array of gymnastic feats, flipping gracefully over the wooden gates and landing as soundly as though he were a cat upon the other side, standing straight to survey the Arabian landscape.

Taking his first confident steps into the city of Babylon, the man exuded an ambiance of darkness. He seemed to breathe it, even. _He_ was back with a vengeance that could be quelled only by blood. _He_ was dead set on restoring his stance of one-up, _He_ had, once upon a time, been called the Prince of Babylon's 'Dark Side'. An accumulation of the sentiments most people lamented having, never fully adopting the dominion one was granted without a conscience. A grand thing, if he might be so bold.

And he might, for they all thought he was dead. The Dark Prince chuckled beneath his breath and continued on his merry way, drawing a handful of stares as he criss-crossed the marketplace. He glanced from side to side and observed the spectators blandly, matching their looks with one of his own.

As he walked, the entity's mind whirled in the aftermath of what had occurred. Though he was very glad to have been given a leave from oblivion, his cunning mind was still puzzling through the events that had led to his revival. He had(obviously) not witnessed it, but the logical portion of his mind screamed that it had been the Sands. It was, after all, the only reasonable answer, and yet that answer filled him with more questions and– Dare he say it– _fear._ The Sands– more precisely the Goddess ruling them-- would never commit a deed without there being some ulterior motive, and as the Dark Prince observed his new body, he found his uneasiness slip away once more beneath the waves of ecstacy.

His hair, as opposed to the dark brown common to most in these parts, was blonde and tickling a set of broad, strong shoulders, with a whisker of sun-bleached white mingled through the disarrayed strands. His body boasted a thin covering of tanned skin, though in comparison to the Babylonian citizens' deep brown hides he resembled nothing short of a phantasm. His eyes had been altered from their old flaming orange and now occupied his visage as silvery blue flecks of ice, freezing his complexion in a look of calculating cruelty.

Speaking from a selfish standpoint(The only one he knew), the Dark Prince would have much rathered to take on his truly malevolent form, to bear the daggertail, a true weapon as opposed to the pitiful rapier belted onto his waist.

Alas, simple clothes were all he adorned. Being a man with the financial standing of the lowest beggar, a tunic of black and thin pants of the same shade were all he had managed to filch from a traveling group. It had been quite humiliating to approach their loaded caravan with nothing but the skin on his bones and a hand to shield his appendages, but with appropriate thanks to his own cunning and stealth, the being had managed to pilfer clothes straight from the fools' bags.

His shoulder gently bumped another's, and he looked across the market of central Babylon. Cool eyes darted from stall to stall, looking for food that was neither unripe nor rotted. Babylon had always been plagued with bad crops, though a choice few who slaved over nothing but their wares had product worth attention. Those who did not have the funding to take care of such a garden were rewarded with disgusting, bitter fruits that rotted quickly and were rarely bought.

Finding a stall filled with promising stock, the Dark Prince sauntered to the left side of the street with a chipper smirk on his lips as he took in all the fare. He could not resist being giddy over his new body. He had never been quite able to imagine the ability to move without explaining what to do to an incompetent buffoon whose heart of gold did little but weigh him down.

The thought of eating in particular shivers down his back. He'd watched the Prince eat on many occasions, all sorts of wonderful looking things! The meat, the fruits the drinks... he had always wondered what the sensation of taste was like. The time had come, and the entity gave a soft giggle to himself as he seized a moderately sized pomegranate, tossing it up and down experimentally. The Prince had done that with his fruits before he purchased them... surely there was a clever reasoning behind it.

Squeezing the fruit once again, he drew his blade and sliced it down the center, watching it's liquid flow between his fingers, cool and sticky, before raising it to his lips and tentatively lapping the juice into his mouth, savoring the delightful plethora of flavor; the bitter yet sweet taste that senthis mind reeling as he took a bite, rind and all, chewing through the waxy tang, for he had no way to know what a pomegranate was meant to taste like. "Astonishing... Perhaps that Girl had better taste than I gave her credit for." He chuckled, turning away before the voice of the stall-owner rang through his ears

"Ah! You can't eat that without paying!" the vendor cried in outrage, thrusting out an open hand as the foreign ghost hesitated and turned back, "Cross my palm with silver or our Prince shall hear of this . . . this _crime_!"

The icy eyes or the Dark Prince narrowed thoughtfully and his rapier was soon pointed to the man's neck, pressing until any more would spill the Old Man's rotten life onto the sandy street and blood would pour onto the vendor's ugly, worn tunic. "I will pay nothing." He said coolly.

A look of horror flashed across the merchant's aged face and he proceeded to ask a baffling question, "Wh-who are you?"

The Dark Prince paused thoughtfully. Who _was_ he? He couldn't say 'The Prince' . . . he needed a name that proved his superiority to that self-righteous windbag . . . Something that screamed power . . .

"Malik," He said with a vile, devilish smile, "I am Malik." The name rolled off his tongue like silken cream, and he felt the identity of owning a name swell within his chest. Malik... it could loosely translate into King in the Egyptian province. King was a proper title. Perfect, even.

"Release me or I will call our prince!" the vendor squawked again, eyes racing around the street, watering as the blade pressed deeper, still never breaking the skin. "He shall not hesitate to throw a foreigner like you into a cell!" The rapier was pressed tighter against the skin and in a far brutal fashion. The Dark Prince was losing his patience with this foolish old man . . .

"Call him." He challenged in a chipper voice, "Call your beloved Prince to save your worthless hide. Why should he even care, anyway? You're nothing but a source of taxes and," He sniffed and scrunched up his nose, "a peculiar stench." His blood boiled at the mention of the man he had come to kill. "Why is he not yet a king? Is he not good enough? Is Babylon not proud of him?"

"He will be king when the time for his crowning comes." The man squeaked, "His father was crowned in midsummer, therefore it is only acceptable that his be in summer as well!" Then, taking a massive breath, the elderly vendor began to cry for help. "Just you wait!" He said, "The Prince will have your–"

His voice died in awe as a disgustingly familiar sword banked at the Dark Prince's neck. He twisted his head slightly and caught a glimpse of two blue eyes and a lightly stubbled chin. A scowl set across the entity's visage as he slowly lowered his rapier and pulled a shining silver piece from his pocket– conveniently snatched from a passerby's purse. He held the coin up for his assailant to see clearly before laying it across the vendor's palm with a slight intake of breath as the blade at his neck drew an ounce of blood. "Do you see, Prince? I have paid my debt. Will you be justified in ripping my throat asunder?" He began to laugh quietly to himself while turning to come face to face with the Prince of Persia, who hadn't changed at all since their violent separation only months ago, beside him was (The Dark Prince felt a twang of irritation) Farah, looking between the two of them as though wondering whose side to be on.

The two of them seemed hardly on friendly terms, from his personal standpoint. Farah stood several feet from the Prince, and though his animosity towards him made the Dark Prince think poorly of his persona, it was quite odd for the ruler to draw his blade on a common thief. How sad. A smirk tickled the edges of his lips but he fought it away. No need to incur anymore anger than he had already.

"I have paid my due..." He felt the blood from his neck beginning to soak his tunic. "I see no reason for my continuing pain." In an outlandish gesture the Dark Prince brought up his rapier and pushed the Prince's sword away, watching as the Royal's eyes flared open in outrage and he swung in an arc, bringing the King's Sword down.

Trying to teach his better half a lesson? How sad.

The Dark Prince caught the blow easily, sliding the blades forward until they locked at the hilts. He smiled in false cordiality toward the Prince and relinquished his iron grasp on his blade, allowing it to be strewn across the street. He watched it's path in bemusement and backed away from the King's Blade, holding a hand up in helplessness. "My apologies," He said, grimacing as he bowed his head to his foe. "My years outside your city have hardened my instincts." He watched as Farah slapped the Prince's arm none-too-softly as he made the gesture to raise his blade again.

"Stop being such a brute." She accused sharply, gesturing to the Dark Prince. "This man deserves no more punishment than any other thief."

A growl tore through the Prince's lips and he looked at his counterpart venomously. "He drew a blade to me, as well as to one of my citizens."

Farah scoffed and folded her arms. "There have been those who have done the same without incurring this much wrath from you... besides, you_did_ draw your blade first."

"Are you taking his side? You think I should let this... Foreigner streetrat run loose in Babylon?" He brought up his arm toward the Dark Prince once more.

"Gods, Prince! Do you have some hidden vendetta against this man?" Farah hissed, slapping his arm down once more.

The Prince furrowed his brow and breathed in deeply. "None that I recall... but somehow I find myself..." He shook his head. "I've only felt this amount of hatred twice in my life."

Farah blinked and frowned deeply. "When–"

"The Vizier... and..." The Prince trailed off but gave Farah a distinct look, to which she brought up both eyebrows.

"You cannot judge a man on your feelings, Prince." She finally murmured. "That is not the way of a ruler."

The deep conversation had progressed enough and the Dark Prince watched them with evident boredom. In a stunning display of rudeness he folded his arms, snapping, "Internal strife? Or perhaps you enjoy acting like an old married couple?" Realizing his mistake, the innocent facade was up again, "I mean... not that you sound like that or anything... well, you do... but please don't hurt me!" He fell onto his knees and felt as though they had broken in the fall. On his knees before the Prince? It hurt him. It made the Dark Prince's very heart ache tremendously.

The Prince looked at Farah, then at 'Malik' pointedly, as if to bring across the reasoning for his doubt but nodded slowly nonetheless, keeping a weather eye on the blonde's movements. "You may remain in the city. But I warn you, if you cause any sort of turmoil in my streets I will let the outsiders have their way with you." With that said, both he and Farah turned and began striding away, though the ruler stopped shortly to glower at 'Malik' and shift the scabbard upon his waist threateningly.

The dark Prince, however, smirked wildly and ran a hand through his white-blonde hair. "No turmoil here, Prince." He murmured darkly, "Only old scores..."


	2. A Change in Pace

**The Second Chapter has arrived, though I doubt anyone has even realized that this is even going through editing XD. Anyway, I'm trying to make the plot fit a bit better to the rest of the story, and, to be honest, I'm trying to humanize the Dark Prince just a little bit, to make the future chapters more believable.**

**Cheers!**

**Disclaimer: Jack owns nothing but the plot. Everything else is not mine. If it was, the poor Dark Prince wouldn't have died.**

**Chapter Two: A Change in Pace**

The Dark Prince had done quite well for himself, if he might say so himself. After his embarrassing episode with the Prince, he had relocated to an inn as physically far from the palace as possible and had lingered in his room until he could think straight. It was a lovely thing to be sadistic, but one needed the ability to think with clarity as well.

It wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to kill anyway, that was what he had come to Babylon to accomplish, but with the Prince having an obvious eye on him, and the citizens trusting him as much as an angry cobra... well, 'Malik' had about as much breathing space as the contents of a sealed jar.

His patience was being tried at every turn by one thing or another. A pesky fly, an annoying child, a damnable old geezer, and...

Anide...

He didn't know what the girl wanted but she followed him like a lost puppy. He had no inkling as to what made her so impossibly clingy, for it wasn't as though he ever spared her a thought besides to snap insults in her direction. She was always there, though, pushing buttons he didn't know he had and making _him_ desire the liberation of death. Anything to get away from her incessant game of Twenty Questions. It was the same process, day in and day out. She trailed behind him with a look of such adoration that had it been anyone else, he might have laughed. Their initial meeting had been flawed at best. He had been minding his own business when the whelp had come upon him.

"_You're Malik, are you not?" He paused in the middle of the street and turned partially to look at the ugliest wench he would ever lay eyes on. She was little more than skin and bones, hailing from the poverty-stricken slum in which the Dark Prince currently resided. Her mangled and oily _brown hair had been tied into two messy tails on either side of her head, the tips of which had_ obviously been dipped unintentionally into some sort of sticky, orange substance that had discolored the over-large white tunic that slipped off her right shoulder. Her tiny, clumsy legs had been garbed with a set of male trousers that were tied up with a length of rope._

"_What do you want?" The Dark prince demanded rudely, seeing no need to feign politeness, "I am quite busy, so make it quick."_

"_What's your favorite flower?" A grubby, long foot pawed playfully at the street's dirt road as he started in shock. "Excuse me?" He choked out, "My_ _**what**__...?"_

"_Favowite flower." She finished with a loud, false accent on her words. He eyed her warily, wondering vaguely if all women acted so oddly. The Prince's woman certainly didn't..._

"_Why the Hell should I tell you!" He demanded angrily, turning away and continuing to walk, trusting that she would realize his lack of desire for conversation. "Is there a point to knowing something that stupid?"_

"_I like Lilies." She said, tagging along behind him as happily as if he'd invited her with open arms. "They're so pwetty and simple! Don't you agwee, Malik?" She leapt forward and tried to hook her arm with his, but the Dark Prince scooted away with a scowl, holding his limb to his side as though she would infect him with whatever diseases she must have to make her act so ridiculously. "Get away from me!" He hissed, pondering the many ways to watch her die effectively... if only it wouldn't ruin his plan to remain out of the prince's sight, "I don't care what you like, though I'll make a point to crush any lilies I see from now on."_

_Young Anide, however, was not one to give up so easily. Jumping forward again she cornered the poor man between two walls. "You don't like lilies? Woses maybe?" He growled in annoyance and tried to slip by, pushing her away roughly in the process and sending her staggering across the ground, perhaps that could get his point across._

_Another failure Anide followed behind him again, somehow taking his shove as a sign of affection._ _**Stupid, stupid, STUPID**_ _He thought bitterly as she continued to bedevil him about flowers. Which flowers smelled pretty, which flowers looked pretty, which flowers looked and smelled pretty... It was driving him to the edge of his minuscule level of rationality._

"_Daffodils!" The Dark Prince finally shouted, having just passed a vendor selling such wares. "I absolutely love daffodils, now get the Hell out of my presence and go... just_ _**go**__!" He pushed her away again and tried not to notice the absolute glow of admiration on her thin face as she ran off._

The next few days had not been any better, to say the least. She had managed to convince the innkeeper to alert her should he ever be leaving on errands, and thusly she would always be out and about at the times when he was stretching his legs. A week had passed since their initial confrontation when she emerged from her filthy home(Located across from the inn, much to his despair) with a wide grin as she spotted him crossing deliberately to the other side of the street. "Mithter Malik!" She sang out, giving chase.

With an expression of the utmost loathing he turned to glower hatefully in her direction, one hand straying to his rapier. "Will you leave me be, you wretched crone!" He demanded as she caught her breath. "Go chase after men of your own stature." Satisfied that he had lost her interest, The Dark Prince began walking away smugly.

"Oh, but I simply must know your favorite season! And your favorite time of day! And your favorite kind of weather!" She shrilled behind him, forcing 'Malik' to stop midstep in rage, shivering from head to foot, trying to regain his calm.

It didn't work and his rapier was drawn with one of his hands fastened to her neck in a death grip. "I do not like you." He hissed quietly, "I will never like you. If you do not leave me alone," He squeezed her throat threateningly, "You will go home today and find your loved ones' heads nailed to the walls. Understood!" She sobbed softly and pulled at his fingers, though his grip only tightened, "Understood!" He demanded again.

When he had received a pitiful 'yes' in response the Dark Prince released her and froze, feeling a blade poking into his own neck, the thin wound issued by the Prince only weeks before was broken open once more and the Dark Prince grimaced as a trail of blood tickled into his tunic. Unable to move, his eyes flicked to and fro until finally, in desperation, he turned and locked his own rapier with none other than the King's Sword.

"Oh damn" He muttered audibly, feeling his counterpart's blue eyes drilling into his head. "Hello there..." The Dark Prince added pitifully, lowering his sword and looking away._ I must be the most unlucky bastard in Babylon._ He thought bitterly.

"I-I did it, My Prince." Both men looked at Anide with raised eyebrows, "Mister Malik only got upset because I've nettled him against his wishes. Please do not punish him, Sir." She dropped onto her knees and the Prince growled loudly, "It seems that you have much luck on your side." He said harshly, making no indication of lowering his blade. Instead he glared at the blonde before him, trying to find what was so familiar about him. His Face? No, he was clearly a foreigner, with angled and sharp features unheard of to the Arabian Region.

Hair? Obviously not. It only made him stand out in a crowd. It was an impossible feat that any but old men should have white hair. He was a clear exception, and it made him unusual and questionable.

Clothes? He dressed as a commoner might, no rarity to his appearance.

Voice? That was it! Everything about this man's voice screamed recognition. The arrogant, self-confident, _caustic_ tone that seemed to mock him without even acknowledging his presence. It was familiar, and as he eyed the other coldly, the timeless question had already formed upon his lips. "Who... are you?." The Prince looked at 'Malik' with a scrutinizing glare and, quite providentially for the Dark Prince, one of the palace's many advisors came bustling down the street, panting. "You are needed at the palace, My Prince!" The elderly man wheezed, "The delegate of the Shukran region has arrived!" He looked between the Prince and Malik, particularly dwelling on their drawn blades. "Please, My Prince, come along!"

The Prince looked at his counterpart one last time, feeling the same inexplicable hatred rise in his stomach like bile, but had little choice but to sheath his blade and trail up the street after his advisor, looking back every now and again until he was out of sight. When the danger had passed, both 'Malik' and Anide visibly relaxed. The dark entity by running a hand through his hair with a heavy breath and mumbling what sounded like 'Thank the Gods' under his breath, while Anide simply slumped against a wall.

"Do not think that I think any higher of you because of that." The Dark Prince snapped, "It was your fault to begin with." He glowered hatefully in her direction and tightened his grip on the blade. "In fact," he purred softly, looking sidelong down the street, "I daresay you know a bit too much..." In a swift movement he had covered the distance between them his blade found a temporary sheath within her chest. He pinned a hand against her mouth to quench the inhuman noises she made before falling silent, her frightened, wide eyes still locked in his, even as the Dark Prince left the corpse in the street and reentered the inn.

Maintaining his cool up the stairs proved difficult. His eyes darted from side to side tensely and as soon as his room's door was securely locked, the Dark Prince sunk onto the floor and heaved a shaking, unsteady breath.

Too close... far too close. He recognized that look; the one he had received from the Prince. "He knew me..." The Dark Prince cursed loudly and threw a punch against the brittle wall, watching as plaster fell against his forearm as his fist broke through, startling several mice from their hiding places. "He'll kill me if he sees me again... if he recognizes me again..." He steepled his fingers in deep thought and bowed his head. "Think... Think..." He murmured.

And think he did for an entire week, watching life go on from his grimy, musty room. The people on the streets below gave no thought to the blue-eyed devil that traced their footsteps while pondering madly on such a wide horizon of thoughts that one would be lost had they been able to enter his mind. The Dark Prince's food was brought to his room by the maids, who reported a feeling of unearthly trepidation even from the door of the room. He only ever vacated the inn at night, lurking in the dark alleys, and in his maddened state of thought, he would draw his blade on whatever dared venture his way. In the mornings the streets would be found to hold host to upwards of five corpses, ranging from cats to men.

The impending feeling of being discovered; of being removed from his new body before he had even used it for a month had driven the Dark Prince to some invisible edge on which he teetered. His mind whirled with thoughts of retrieving the Daggertail, which he was quite certain resided in the palace. Of all the ideas which had crossed the threshold of his mind, to storm the palace would be easiest, but logically, the hope of success would be slim. His nighttime killings weren't enough, though. He wanted a challenge. He wanted risk. He wanted to prove his superiority! He wanted... he wanted...

"Prince." He finished with a cunning smirk. A mad laugh burned up his throat and he stood up hastily, exiting the room and dragging his blade across the wall, leaving a long, winding scar. Had he been concerned with remaining there, he would have been fined for the damages, but if things went his way, he wouldn't be there to be blamed.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The Prince hated this day of the month with a passion.

For a full twelve hours, sunup to sundown, he had to sit on the throne and listen to Babylon's citizens babble on about their many problems. Bad crops, bad neighbors, thieves, murders–

Murders?

The Prince sat up in the throne and looked at the elderly woman standing before him, wringing an old woolen cap in her gnarled hands, "Obviously you wouldn't know, My Prince, but lately there have been some terrible murders. Every morning we wake up to the street covered in animal blood... and people blood, too! It's horrid, and-and," She scuffled closer to the throne and lowered her voice, "They says it's the foreigner that's doing it, My Prince! The one with wild eyes and white hair!" She cleared her throat nervously. "He said it himself... he was looking around the street and as the Gods as my witnesses he was asking hisself who to kill." She lowered her head and slunk from the hall, leaving the Prince in deep thought.

Well, it appeared that many people had a problem with this stranger to Babylon. In only several hours the Prince counted two dozen complaints about the murders, and how all evidence pointed at this 'Malik' person. No one seemed to have any clear proof of his guilt, but they seemed to feel quite strongly of the situation.

It was shortly after midday that, with a group of soldiers, the Prince abandoned his throne to solve the problem. While he couldn't kill this 'Malik' without actual proof, he could put him under close watch in the palace. If he might be so bold, this was exactly the opportunity he had hoped for since first running across the heathen. Surely, with the number of guards patrolling the corridors every night, as well as Farah and himself... It was as safe a place as possible for a supposed criminal.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Needless to say, the Dark Prince was quite pleased, hiding a massive, maniacal grin, when three guards and the Prince burst into his room while he was cleaning his sword. With a raised eyebrow he turned to greet them, almost laughing at their expressions of shock and disbelief. It seemed they had been hoping to catch him in the middle of some demonic ritual. Perhaps during a virgin sacrifice.

"Were you expecting me to serenade you?" The dark entity asked sarcastically, "I'm afraid I don't have much of a singing voice." He tilted his head at them and stood up, "What exactly do you want? Or are you exercising your right to burst into any room you see fit?"

Recovering from his shock, the Prince began speaking, "We have received complaints from other citizens of your possibly dangerous nature." He paused, "While we have no proof that you are responsible, you will come with us nonetheless." He folded his arms and began walking away, obviously expecting the Dark Prince to follow.

"You said yourself you have no proof. Therefore, why should I even go with you? Perhaps I don't want to be locked in a cell for a crime I did not commit." He held his ground against the glowers of the guards, all of which appeared to be twice his size in muscle mass and height.

"No one said you would be locked in a cell," the Prince reasoned sharply, "You will simply be under close supervision in the palace... some might say it is a gift that you should be allowed to live in such a place" He began walking again and this time the Dark Prince followed grudgingly.

"You make it sound so inviting! Have you ever considered being some sort of salesman? '_Oh yes, buy this wondrous axe for your child, it's sharp, pointed and dangerous!_'" He folded his arms darkly and sped up to walk beside the Prince, not being one to allow himself outdone.

"I heard that." The royal snapped, speeding up to walk ahead again, if only to establish his superiority.

"Did you?" The Dark Entity retorted, walking beside him again, though by now they were jogging, followed shortly by the guards, who appeared to be rather befuddled by the display.

"Yes, I did." They were running now, racing through the streets, trying to get ahead of one another as the guards simply gave up and merely trotted along, watching the two as they elbowed and pushed, performing the most spectacular feats as the Prince leapt over a horse-drawn carriage and his counterpart grabbed a rod which held up the roof of a fruit stand and flew over the wares.

"What are you trying to do?" The Prince finally demanded angrily after they had reached the palace, both panting, though putting on appearances of nonchalance. His suspicion had once again been increased, and now he looked at the blonde as if expecting him to draw the daggertail from behind his back.

"Well I _was_ trying to walk beside you but you're far too good for that, aren't you!" The Dark Prince retorted shortly, forsaking the innocent facade he had sported upon meeting the Prince after his arrival in Babylon as he pushed his way into the palace.

"I take it that things will be very interesting with you here..." The Prince grumbled crossly, passing the palace's threshold and joining the Dark prince as he watched the guards scrabble up the streets leading to his home, wheezing and spluttering from beneath their plates of armor.

With a cocky grin, the Dark Prince turned away to observe his surroundings."I try."

**Chapter two has now officially been edited! Wow, I'm really speeding through these...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wahaahaa, Chapter three! Front and center!**

**I had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter, though it does have some crude language in it between the Dark Prince and Farah. Yes, yes! Amusing it was to write about their many arguments and disagreements. -bows- I loved the reviews, as I always do, and you all deserve a hug! -Hugs-**

**Disclaimer: Jack owns nothing of Prince of Persia. He only made this plot and the name Malik -squee-**

_**Chapter Three: I'm Back**_

"If you don't like me here, send me back to the city!"

Had one decided to enter the palace on this fine day, they would find two men fighting like cats and dogs in one of the many hallways of the building.

"How! If we send you back yuo would start murdering innocent people!" The Prince exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.

"You don't even know it was me!" The dark Prince yelled back, stamping his foot against the marble floor furiously. He was now suffering from cabin fever to worst degree. He wanted to go outside, but _no_, he had to stay in this... this _tomb_ with the Prince and Farah.

"I know that the killing has stopped since we caught you!"

"You did not catch me! I came on my own free will!"

"_Exactly!_"

"What the hell it that supposed to mean!"

"You came on your own!" The two of them then fell silent, making due with simply glowering at each other furiously until Farah wandered over with a raised brow. "I was going to say that your dinner is ready... but I'll leave you be..." She began edging away nervously, expecting the two to burst into some sort of bloody battle to the death.

"No, we're coming, Ferah." the Prince sighed.

"Don't speak for me!" the Dark prince snapped, trailing after them nonetheless.

Ferah looked at him darkly and wandered over to his side, "You seem very familiar, Malik." She said slowly, "Who are you, really?" She squinted angrily and stepped into his personal space, which in turn made him step back a foot. "...?" She left the question hanging and took another step forward, forcing him back even further.

"We've gone over this, have we not? I am from south, thus my... peculiar appearance in comparison to yours." The Dark Prince lied through gritted teeth, pushing her away and returning to his trek to the table laden with food of many different origins. Ah, another one of the many assets of living with wealthy people. You got a bit more choice than meat and potatoes.

"I don't believe you, the Prince obviously doesn't. Why should we! All you do is argue with us and generally act–"

"Oh, shut up." The Dark Prince didn't even turn around, he just kept walking.

"Excuse me!" Farah sped up to walk next to him.

"Shut up. Do I have to spell it out for you? Okay, I will, S-H-U-T U-P! Shut," He paused for effect, "Up." He finished dryly.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" Farah insisted furiously.

The Dark Prince turned just in time to catch a slap that sent him reeling to the right. "You pompous, flat-chested bitch!" he cried, nursing a slowly reddening cheek, "That hurt!"

"I am not flat-chested!"

"But you are a pompous bitch?"

But Farah had already stormed away and the Prince came up behind her. "What did you do to make her so furious?" He asked curiously.

The Dark Prince recited their conversation to the point where she'd slapped him, "I didn't even use the language I intended and she still sla–AH!" Once again, our favorite dark entity was taken by surprise as the Prince's own fist connected against his jaw, sending him this time to the floor, where he slid several feet before sitting up on his elbows.

"Do not insult Farah!" The Prince hissed angrily.

"What is it with you people and hitting me?" The Dark Prince muttered after his counterpart had walked away. "Ugh... I need my daggertail." With that he staggered to his feet with a forming bruise on his chin and a plan drifting through his cunning mind.

All throughout dinner Farah seemed to be staring at him, or rather at the bruise on his face. Hell, he didn't even have to be intelligent(Not that he wasn't) to know that she suspected it was her doing. "It wasn't you." He said finally, when her staring became quite frustrating, "It was something else." he stared pointedly at the Prince, who in turn looked up to Farah's questioning stare.

The advisors continued chatting along the table, oblivious to the silent conversation the three youngest in their midst were having.

The Prince looked at Farah as if to say 'He insulted you!'

Farah returned a glare that spelled, 'I can defend myself.'

The Dark Prince just looked at them in a way that said, 'You two are total idiots and it makes me laugh.'

"AH, My Prince." One of the advisors scuffled into the dining hall, "We have located the daggertail Prince. What would you wish done with it?"

As they waited for an answer, the Dark Prince tried not to act as tense as he felt. Pretending to sip at his stew he listened closely to what the Prince said.

"Put it in the armory for now," The Prince said slowly and firmly, "And destroy it in the morning."

"Wh-what!" All eyes were on the Dark Prince, who froze in shock with his mouth wide open like a fish out of water.

"What's wrong?" The Prince asked curiously with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing, nothing. I just overheard some servants talking..." The dark Prince calmly lied, "Are you aware that they have been stealing daggers from your armory?" He watched two male servants speed up in an attempt to avoid trouble. Hah, interesting... he'd made that up off the top of his head.

"Is that so?" One of the advisors jumped in, "We'll have to deal with this issue immediately. One thousand thank yous, Mister Malik, for pointing this heinous crime out to us!" With that, three old coots left the room, leaving two behind with the Prince, Farah and Malik.

"Ah, my Prince, Farah. You must come with us. A neighboring kingdom has requested a signed treaty between itself and Babylon and you both ought to be present." The elderly woman looked at Malik, "We're going to need all guards present, therefore I suppose Mister Malik will be left alone for the afternoon?" She paused, "That is, if the Prince sees no problem?"

"I suppose not..." The Prince said slowly, considering the fact that the light-haired man really hadn't done anything wrong... yet "I want the guards back as soon as possible, though, and you," he glared at the Dark Prince, "Are to stay in your room."

And so the Dark Prince was, indeed in his room. A simple, white place with a small bed and several chairs. Nice and simple. "Telling me what to do..." He scoffed angrily, standing up straight and shoving open his door, glancing down the hall before beginning his trek to, you guessed it, the armory.

He looked ahead and noticed with a scowl that there were two guards positioned outside the doorless room. His bright green(Yeeesss, I changed his eye color -shifty eyes-) wandered to the roof and he almost yelled in delight upon seeing seven broken wooden arches, perfect for balancing on.

And so, the next moment both guards looked away, the Dark Prince performed a simple stunt of running up a wall and leaping onto the arch. It took a bit of silent scrambling before he was safely atop the wood, leaping from arch to arch like some kind of blonde, human-shaped monkey.

He landed silently within the room and slunk behind a massive shield. His eyes scanned the room desperately, looking for any kind of hint as to where _his_ Daggertail was.

Then he saw it.

It was like being reunited with a long-lost love. Just seeing the whip-like weapon tossed so carelessly into a corner made his blood boil at the indignity of whoever had handled it.

The Dark Prince reached out and grasped the end of it, grinning maniacally and running his thumb over the blade. A fleck of blood marred the steel and after a moment of hesitation he wrapped the weapon around his arm, biting his tongue against the pain as the edges tore into his skin.

When it was done the Dark Prince watched in amazement as a golden glow took over his arm and the metal melded into his arm, stealing away the pain of it until the glow faded and all that was left of it was a single strand of gold that clung to one of the spikes of the Daggertail. He picked up the strand and watched as it vanished into the air.

His eyes narrowed when a wind picked up in the room. The Dark Prince looked around for the source but only heard a female, disembodied voice whisper into his ear, _A gift to you from I. Use it wisely._ Then it was gone, as was the breeze, leaving a very confused man alone in the armory. "Whoever you are, you give fine presents." He finally growled in delight, flexing his arm and looking at the two guards.

Time for some fun...

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"I'm afraid we are unable to locate Mister Malik, My Prince." One of the palace advisors bustled over to him after his long meeting with a foreign dictator that didn't speak a lick of their language.

"What do you mean 'you are unable to locate him'? I told him to remain in his room!"

Farah looked away and coughed into her hand to hide an obvious laugh, "Prince... did you truly believe he would listen to you? You have been fighting like a God and a Devil for the whole week! I would go so far as to say he left just to mock your lack of control over him."

"You are not helping, Farah." The Prince muttered, looking around as if expecting 'Malik' to poof out of the wall and play some sort of prank that he had become increasingly infamous for over the week he'd spent in the palace.

Alas, the walls beared no answer, only stains that marked that Malik _had_ been there.

**Flashback to three days before**

"Get out of my way!"

"Make me!"

"I will!"

And so it was the normal routine for a palace that held Malik. Wake up, eat, laze around, fight like a devil with that idiot, eat again, fight some more, fall victim to a trick...

The Prince was slowly approaching the latter as Malik stormed off after losing their argument, the makings of revenge etched all over his face.

And what a revenge it was. The prince had been walking past a staircase, none the wiser to his delinquent guest's plans. That is, until he was bombarded by old rags soaked in... he sniffed, pomegranate juice?

"What are you doing!" He finally yelled, ducking behind a conveniently placed pillar as the projectiles continued raining up him.

"What the hell does it look like I'm going!" Malik retorted loudly as one of the pomegranate juice-soaked rags struck the Prince's face.

With an angry huff the Prince scooped up a rag and hurled it back up the staircase into Malik's hair, staining it pink.

**End pointless filler flashback of d00m**

By now the search for the Dark Prince, or rather, the search for 'Malik' had stretched through the entire palace, ending, ironically with the armory.

Upon reaching the room it seemed normal. The two guards were standing side-by-side within the armory looking like statues with their uniforms on and helmets pulled over their faces. The only peculiar thing noticeable was three shattered vases and, the Prince's heart skipped a beat, the evident lack of the Daggertail.

"Stand down." he barked, looking at the two guards with narrowed eyes and a feeling of impending dread when they did nothing, "I said stand down."

The two men toppled onto the floor with massive gashes down their backs after a helpful shove from the Dark Prince, whose eyes were alight in malevolent, twisted, fiendish joy with the Daggertail encircling him on the floor like some kind of metal snake.

"Hello Prince," He hissed, "I'm back."

**Yes, yes, I know o.o. I kind of made it really confusing with the whole Dark Prince Daggertail situation, but I needed it to be fused with his arm for a later part of the plot. -shuts up- That you'll just have to wait and see, eh? Be prepared for a battle first-thing next chapter, as well! Daggertail vs sword. I already know who's going to win, but I'll let you all guess. Be aware though, that this battle will be no where near as climatic as the ones I have planed for the future. After all, at the moment, both the Prince and Dark Prince have had little to no practice with their weapons for months, seeing how Babylon is in no danger.**


	4. Chapter 4

**-Feels pressure- Well, you guys have me nervous as a cat in a dog pound. I have the feeling that something I'm going to do in this chapter will get me more flames than I care for. -whimpers-**

**On that note; the Dark Prince doesn't have his original body. He ONLY has the Daggertail, because to give him his old form, he would need Sands to stay alive. At this point in my story, there ARE no Sands, thus he would die within chapters and we don't want THAT, now do we? Well there ARE sands, he just can't access them.**

**Reply to Some Random Reviewer: O.O My friend... You are brilliant! And the whole prankster thing was a bit of filler junk. I originally wanted to include the battle in the last chapter but I decided it deserved one of it's very own.**

**You have a good point. Maybe it would be much easier to call him Malik, but, while he resembles a human, he is still the same Dark Prince that we all recognize, therefore it seems only right to continue calling him such, though I'm going to change it to Malik because it's much easier to write than 'Dark Prince'(-Is a lazy bum-) For now I think I'll continue using Dark Prince at some points, though.**

**With the arm, he's still a human, -points at above paragraphs- I explained it to the best of my ability... And, while he can retract the daggertail, he cannot hide it in his skin.**

_**Chapter Four: Kaileena's Warning**_

No words were spoken between them. Only waves of unrelenting hatred from the Prince, and sadistic amusement from Malik. "Are you going to stand and stare or fight." He taunted, "You call yourself a _warrior_?" The Daggertail shifted with his laughter, twisting and flipping on the floor wildly, scoring the marble with deep, jagged scratches.

"How?" The Prince murmured hoarsely, "You were destroyed when I left you! You cannot be back! It's not possible!" The king's Sword was drawn nonetheless.

"Oh, but it is, Prince." Malik lazily swung the Daggertail in an arc above his head and with an experienced flick of his wrist sent the jagged edges at the Prince. It was hardly as powerful a blow as he could muster, but it would suffice to test his boundaries... see just how powerful the Prince could be, or rather, how strong that blade of his was.

The sound of metal against metal rang through the palace as sparks showered the Prince, who had defended the blow with his blade, which withheld the strike without so much as a scratch. When he was certain it was as safe as could be, he dove forward and swung his father's sword swiftly.

The Dark Prince stepped back and bent under the attack. The blade slid through the air over his head and he swung the daggertail around fiercely, using the momentum of it to stand up straight.

Unable to do anything more, the Prince took the brunt of the blow with his sword again, stumbling backwards several feet before rolling away from another three swings of the chain-like weapon. He skidded to a halt and plunged forward fiercely. When the Daggertail skimmed his cheek, however, he hesitated, following it's path before striking empty air.

"Still getting distracted by the simple things, hmm, Prince?" Malik said in a tone that was almost a coo. "How sad. I was expecting a challe–" he was cut off by a violent flurry of swipes and jabs that he met with a gleeful, excited laugh. Duck, duck, block, swing, duck, parry. He caught the final, violent stab with one of the spaces between the blades of his Daggertail. Twisting it to the right, along with the Prince's arm he caught his counterpart in a very difficult situation. To release the sword was suicide. To _not_ let go was the same. His eyes followed a length of the daggertail as it flicked left, right, left, right.

It happened almost too fast for Malik to grasp. The Prince's left hand swerved behind his back and drew a small dagger. Next came a sudden burst of pain in his middle.

Malik released the Daggertail and stumbled back, looking down at his stomach and the blood seeping into his hands. Not a deep wound, but it hurt like hell. "You have a second blade?" He looked up with angrily darkening eyes.

"Of course. What fool fights with only one weapon in an armory?" The Prince pointed at the many blades piled on the floor.

Malik looked down at his Daggertail quietly, then the pile. In one massive movement he slung the chain at the metal objects. The weapons flew into the air after his assault and slammed into the opposite wall, many shattering on contact while others buried into the wood. His next stroke sent the Prince's spare blade tinkling to the ground in two halves. "Your weapon-makers are exceptionally pitiful." Malik growled, still stroking his wounded stomach defensively while dodging some more strikes. "You are a bit too full of yourself, Prince." He snarled, beginning his own violent counterattack.

The Daggertail cracked and hissed against the King's sword as Malik's strikes became stronger, solider, deadlier. Slam, slam, slam. The Prince continued falling back, gaining a multitude of minuscule wounds on his hands and face from the chain as it went back and forth.

"You cannot win against me, Prince." Malik hissed as sparks flew from the two weapons. "I know how your mind works. I know everything you do." His eyes narrowed in sadistic glee, "You however, have very little idea as to who I am. What _my_ strategies are, what _I _can achieve."

And so he lunged forward, dragging the Daggertail behind him until he was a foot from the Prince, at which time he swung the chain-like weapon around viciously and watching it wrap around his legs.

One more swift motion and muscle and flesh were ripped and shredded, earning a howl of pain from he Prince, and a wild shout of glee from the dark entity. His eyes seemed to turn red in sick, bloody thoughts of vengeance as the Daggertail was spun over his head, "You're dead, Prince." Malik said coldly, "Dead." He tensed his muscles for a final strike to slaughter Babylon's hero...

That strike never came.

His arm... it was frozen! He couldn't move it!

Malik cursed frantically and found that only his head could move. Stretching his neck around, the Dark Prince struggled to find who, or what was responsible for this.

His gaze then caught onto the lack of movement of his surroundings. The Prince's face was locked in a grimace of pain... the air seemed unnaturally still... The outlines of everything seemed blurry and unclear.

It hit him like a tonne of stone.

_Time had stopped_

Well he now knew who had done this. And he was more than slightly irked by the interruption of the Prince's demise. "Empress!" he screamed furiously, "Kaileena!" His very hair seemed to fluff out somewhat in rage... like an oversized cat of sorts, "What is the meaning of this?" He tried against to move. To defy her grip on time itself and unfreeze his legs.

"Patience," A voice said softly, "Was not a gift you were created with. Otherwise I may have been offended." Before him the Sands of Time swirled and spun the image of a woman, the Empress, no doubt. "You should learn to respect those to which you owe your life, Dark prince, or should I say, Malik." The sand that formed her lips twisted into a smile that was disgustingly addictive.

He looked away angrily and scowled as darkly as possible. "Get to your point. Are you simply here to tell me to be a nice person? If so get out of my way and let me finish my job." His eyes were glued almost ravenously on the Prince's fallen form.

"No. I am here to warn you..." Possible her familiarity with his personality shielded her from the glares, or she didn't notice them. Either way, Kaileena continued unfazed. "Babylon has once again veered from the road of prosperity to the path leading to demise."

"Good. Let the Bastard's city fall to waste, this has nothing to do with me."

"It does. You will prove to be the last line of defense." Kaileena watched his eyes widen then narrow.

"What. The. Hell? You think I'm going to help those fools?" He tried to throw his hands up, but, of course, they couldn't move.

"Your existence depends on it." _That_ stopped him. "You see... when I resurrected you, it was in the hopes that you would be able to release your hatred and live a life like any other being." Kaileena sighed, "But something happened... something that the Sands did not show me..."

Malik felt dread cover his heart and quicken it's beating. "What are you saying?" He hissed, "Stop speaking in riddles."

"I intended good, but brought about tragedy. By bringing you back from death, I somehow restored the Sand creatures that once plagued Babylon, and they are returning in innumerable forces, seeking the largest supply of Sands." Kaileena paused soberly, "They are after you, Prince of Darkness, for I constructed your very body from Sand. You are now the largest source of it, and as long as you live, they will seek you out for that which gives them life."

"The Sands of Time..." Malik breathed, "Are you saying that I must die for this to be corrected?"

"The end of this tale is a double edged sword. You can live, but Babylon, and any city you seek shelter in, shall fall to the Sand Monsters. I have seen that path, and it ends in death." Kaileena said softly, "The only other path will test your skills... and the human qualities you will soon come to terms with."Her form began flickering and Malik shouted in shock. "What do you mean! What qualities! Tell me!"

Time began to return to normal, "You will know what is right, Prince of Darkness; Malik... do not kill the Prince... you will need his aid more than you expect... the Daggertail was a gift, use it wisely and defend the Sands running now in your veins at all costs." And so she was gone, and Malik found control of his limbs faster than he would have liked. "Damn!" Heeding the Empress' wise words, he pulled the Daggertail away from the Prince and let it clatter onto the ground as he hissed in confusion. "What is the meaning of her riddles?" He growled, looking up in time to hear a bow being drawn back, and the release of an arrow. Then black.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The Dark Prince crumpled to the ground immediately after the arrow entered his side, digging several inches into the flesh.

"Is he... dead?" The Prince gasped painfully as his legs throbbed horrible.

"I wish. I was in too much of a rush to get a clean shot. It didn't even hit anything vital." Farah nudged Malik's ribs gently. "What do you plan to do? Would it be wise to kill him?"

"I want to know how he got back," The Prince glared at some guards, "Come. Move the highest ranking criminals of Babylon from their dungeon to a lesser-secured area." He stood up shakily.

"But, Prince–!"

"Do it!"

They scurried off hurriedly and the Prince stared down into his counterpart's slumbering face furiously, "How did you get back?" he demanded, grabbing his tunic's front and hauling Malik from the ground, still unconscious. "_How!_"

"Prince... Shaking an unconscious man will not give you any results. We can do little more than lock him in our finest-build dungeon and wait for him to come to." Farah said softly, resting a hand on his tense shoulder. "I'm sure he will cooperate–"

"No he won't." The Prince released the body ruthlessly, "I know him, Farah. He will not say anything. He will mock and jeer, but will release none of his motives, or he will twist them into some sort of dramatic story."

"How do you know him, Prince?"

"Do you remember the tale I told you? Of my journeys?"

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"He..." The Prince pointed at Malik's spread-eagled form angrily, "Was the one within my mind. That mocked and jeered everyday without fail... I thought I had killed him, Farah..."

"Perhaps he has changed?"

"I can quote _him_ on that; 'Places change, tastes change; but people? People _never_ change.' He if a person who will never change, Farah. I will never forgive him for what he has done."

"I did not ask for you to forgive him, Prince. But _you_ have changed... can another not do the same?"

"I don't know..." The Prince admitted wearily, "I... don't know."

**DON'T KILL THE AUTHOR FOR LOUSY BATTLE SCENES! I'm sorry! I spent so long playing the game in the past day to try and grasp the daggertail's abilities but I still couldn't do it. And sorry about getting the Dark Prince tossed into a dungeon. The next chapter might be a bit graphic, possibly even bordering the dreaded M rating. **

**Toss me some feedback, will ya? I love reviews and they make me laugh most of the time.**

**Next time: Malik faces a choice; Follow Kaileena's advice and attempt to side with the Prince or rot in the dungeons, with less than ten feet to walk around and no food or water? Which will truly be worse in the long run?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, really short introduction this time, because I want to get this up and running!**

**I'm so sorry for the delay! I was moving and you all should know that I felt awful for not being able to reach the computer to continue typing.**

**I also apologize for the quality of this chapter; I know it's awful u.u you should know that I was doing this in the midst of packing, so by the time I got back to the story an idea I had had was replaced with another and etc. **

**Now, without further ado, I present chapter 5!**

**Disclaimer: Jack doesn't own Prince of Persia, only this plot **

_**Chapter Five: Fear**_

The next month was terrible for all in the palace. Enraged shrieks came from the basement of the building for two long weeks, and after that no servant would dare go lower than half-way down the stairs, meaning no food got to Malik, meaning there was one angry-as-hell, starving bastard no doubt dying in Babylon's palace, and that news brought about unrest in the advisors, and even the Prince.

"Prince, have you truly thought this through?" Farah trailed behind the Prince as he walked towards the dungeon in which his counterpart was being held.

"I should have done this weeks ago, Farah. At least then I was sure he was alive." They came to a full stop before a massive, heavy door.

"What can you even ask him?" Farah wondered aloud.

"Did you not see?" The Prince asked thoughtfully, "He could have killed me in one stroke a month ago. He pulled that weapon away before you had even taken aim."

"You think he threw a perfectly good hit?" Farah guessed intelligently as he approached the door and began working on the locks.

"Yes. He could not have mis-aimed that badly. Impossible." the prince began pushing the door open before looking back at Farah. "Don't follow me, Farah," he said slowly.

"What? Why?" Her voice raised indignantly.

"Because you will no doubt make him more furious than he is already."

"He has not eaten in two weeks! What danger can he be?"

"Quite dangerous, if he decides not to talk." The Prince left Farah pondering over this and slipped into the dungeon****

It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust, and when they did the Prince couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath at the destruction laid out before him. The room from a month ago was gone. Many lighter bricks had been literally torn from the wall and cast about the room and what couldn't be moved was smeared in blood(Whose, or what's, the Prince could not make out). The ground was bone dry with deep scars that resembled someone's nails.

Bile crawled up the Prince's throat at the thought of any human living in conditions such as this, fit only for snakes and rats... of course, the man residing somewhere in the many shadows was in many ways no better than such animals.

"Ah...Prince..." He looked to the right, where he'd heard a rattling breath, as well as the rasped, yet still mocking voice. The very shadows seemed to recoil from the man that emerged and looked at the Prince through half-wild eyes. "I would offer you a seat... but there are none."

White hair was now dank and grey, almost brown and Malik's pale skin was covered with dirt and what appeared to be blood. His left arm hung loosely at his side and the Daggertail trailed back into the darkness, buried under stones that took ten men to lift.

Made a prisoner by his own weapon. A sad situation indeed. Looked again at his counterpart's arm, the Prince balked visibly at the torn skin surrounding the chain. He looked at Malik for an explanation but he merely shrugged weakly, still trying to gather his wits about him at the sudden visit after a month. "I tried to remove it." He explained almost sadly, "But it has fused with the bone."

Malik took a step forward and the Prince a step back.

Malik's mind was buzzing in his head. It was like being drunk, or something along those lines. His thoughts were a jumble of starved, dehydrated images, and it was truthfully all he could do to stand at the moment... not that he would let anyone know that as he began speaking again, "Did you honestly think I would die if you left me alone long enough?" He sneered, "Idiot."

"I don't care. I came here to question you, not test your mortality." The Prince folded his arms and Malik sat down with a heavy thud, looking exceptionally exhausted from simply standing.

"Well get on with it." He waved his unwounded arm darkly, "I would rather get on to my daily ritual of starving as opposed to sitting here awaiting your game of Twenty Questions." Malik watched the Prince open his mouth, then close it again, as if pondering where to begin. "Gods... You're still as indesicive as ever."

"I didn't come down here for you to mock me, either." The royal added angrily, clenching a fist as that nerve--that one single thread of patience reserved for his counterpart- was ground into oblivion. "First of all..." The Prince looked around the dismal, deserted dungeon, "How the _hell_ have you survived for a month?" He scanned Malik for some sort of physical explanation; all he saw was a half-starved man whose eyes seemed to burn through the darkness from their sunken position in his skull.

"Ooh... fancy language, Prince." Malik cooed slo-o-owly, looking up from his knees, "And, as usual, you have failed to look underneath and beyond what you see." Registering a look of blank confusion he continued in exasperation, "I have to explain every damn thing to you! Try using your own head a bit," Standing up shakily, Malik walked into a shadow, scrounging around in the dirt and clay for a moment, "Ah, here it is." The Dark Prince held up something, marred by the darkness of the dungeon.

"What exactly is this _it_ you speak of?" The Prince demanded in cold confusion.

"I see you eyes work as well as your brain." Malik stepped closer and the Prince quickly realised with disgust, disbelief and a touch of horror that he was holding a skeleton. A small skeleton picked clean that beared a grotesque resemblance to...

"_Rats!_" The Prince choked out, "You cannot be saying you could possibly..." The thought of it made the bile in his throat creep ever higher.

"A desperate man chooses a desperate path that results in a desperate outcome." Malik quoted his father to a tee. "Right? I am quite a desperate man, Prince." He waved a hand around.

"But to eat..."

Rage quickly overcame amusement and Malik lunged forward and managed to catch the Prince by his tunic's front, "And what, praytell, would _you_ do, Oh Honorable, Magnificent, _Perfect_ Prince? Oh, share your wisdom on torture you have never endured!" His green eyes seemed to turn red in the shadows and his madness. If he was capable of doing so the Prince would be dead ten times over.

But alas, he was weak. Undeniably so. Simply clutching the front of the Prince's tunic left Malik struggling to stand in his thirst and hunger. Unable to stand any longer he staggered backwards and landed gracelessly on his back looking pitiful and destroyed.

"Are you happy Prince?" He croaked to the ceiling while lying there, spread-eagle in the dirt. "You have destroyed me... I cannot fight... cannot eat... cannot drink..." A wild, terrible smirk played at his lips, "Cannot sleep..." That he could not. After Kaileena's warning his mind was plagued with images of being slaughtered by Sand Monsters. Or being stabbed in his slumber while working alongside the Prince.

He had considered many a time telling his counterpart of Kaileena's prediction, but who would listen? Who would heed a devil? A demon? It would be like telling a child the meaning of life... useless, pointless and overall stupid. No... he would find a way out of this on his own, or die trying.

A terrible scream of hunger from his stomach gave Malik a sickening reminder that the latter was drawing disturbingly close. Opening one eye, then the other, he looking sidelong at the Prince from his position on the ground and saw a look of deep contemplation plastered on his face.

"Praise the Gods he's silent! To what do I owe this unexpected gift?" With a raised brow the weakened Malik awaited a response while continuing to stare at the ceiling.

A grimace of annoyance crossed the Princes face, "Your mood swings are worse than a woman's..." He snarled bitterly, having only just overcome the uncontrolled rage directed at him. "And..." His voice failed him as he tried to word his question correctly to avoid bodily harm, "What... why did you not kill me when you had the chance a month ago?"

For a while it seemed as though his request had fallen upon deaf ears, as Malik didn't even bother looking over. Really, the Dark Spirit was simply pondering his response thoroughly. This was the perfect chance to reveal Kaileena's thoughts... but if he wasn't believed it could spell worse disaster than had already come his way.

Choosing what he believed to be the safest, easiest route, Malik lied coolly, "What makes you think I wanted to miss? I heard that Girl's bow being strung and turned towards it. My arm naturally followed, as did the Daggertail in turn." His eyes closed wearily and he seemed to drift into a state of unconsciousness.

Over an hour passed before the Prince left, having asked several questions upon which silence was his answer. The other man was completely unaware of all as he slept, meaning it was useless to wait any longer.

However, as the Prince walked back to the palace's main area, Malik suffered in his dreams. Images of being torn apart by monsters, feeling the effect that months of life in the desert would have; being stabbed through by a crazed Prince...

"Stop... stop..." He moaned, cradling his head as the images flashed before him.

_Why?_ A female voice cut through the screams of anguish from his thoughts, _Why did you not pass on my message, Malik? You have put all of Babylon into danger!_

Knowing who it was and yet not looking up he clenched his teeth, "They would not believe me if I did try! I tried to kill the Prince, and Farah... they trust me as much as a rabid wolf!" A choked laugh erupted from his parched throat, "Not that I am much better, mind you."

_Why did you not try?_ Kaileena's soft voice was now frighteningly upset; angered even. _You are not even aware of what you have done!_

"Leave me alone to suffer. Your whining does nothing to help my case." As soon as he stopped speaking a terrible sound erupted in his mind, shattering everything in it's horrific melody of children screaming, cats hissing, couples sobbing; the sights of flesh burning, blood splattering and families being broken all mixed into one.

Malik released a wail that matched that of what was in his mind.

_Will you tell him?_ The Empress' cold voice was soft but terribly clear through the anguish of his tormented mind.

"Stop it!" He cried, ignoring whatever she was saying while clawing at his face, desperately trying to get away from the torture in his own head.

_Will you tell him?_ She repeated furiously, increasing the magnitude of the pain in his head.

"I will! I will!" Malik shouted against the sounds and sights.

A peacefulness filled him and the dark entity felt his eyes slide closed in bliss.

_Remember your promise, Prince of Darkness; Malik._ The voice said gently in contrast to her past rage. _Tell him when he returns in three days, as I have seen with the Sands._

A weak nod and she was gone, vanished from his thoughts before Malik had even fainted into oblivion with dreamless slumber; a requiem from the haze of terror he'd endured for a month.

Unaware of the terror he had yet to face.

**DONE! Now, send Jack a review with your likes and dislikes and perhaps some ideas for future chapters! Jack loves all reviews, good or bad, so even if you thought this was a typed piece of pooh...**

**TELL MEEEE! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry just won't cut it! But it's all I can say!**

**I have so many exams coming up it's not funny. One to get a motorcycle licence, ones for school, an IQ test my doctor is making me take for some reason... Hell, even my dear English teacher has given me the task of teaching ickle Kindergarten children how to read and write when they are confuzzled. Ick, I hate little children, but in a K-12 school you have to go with the flow ;-;.**

**Anywho, the chapter is here and I warn you, it's horribly written this time. Seriously, it is. Please, feel free to yell at me for the quality, for I deserve it without a doubt.**

_**Chapter Six: Out of the Fat and Into the Fire**_

Three days passed, and, just as he'd said, the Prince returned to the dungeon bearing gifts from the upper world that seemed all but lost to Malik.

When the door opened, the dark entity thought he was dreaming; shielding his eyes from the new light as the Prince stepped in. Of course, a loaf of bread to the nose certainly woke him up. "Watch where you're throwing things." Malik snarled angrily, gripping the bread like it was a miracle nonetheless.

"Maybe you could have noticed it." The Prince retorted somewhat bitterly, sitting down with a huff and holding out a large jug of water as well. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He hissed crossly as Malik tore into the loaf. He appeared to be doing much better than three days before. Strangely enough his hair was surprisingly lighter and his body was once again athletic. "How–" The Prince began

"She has you wrapped around her little finger." Malik interrupted rudely, "And it's pitiful."

"What are you talking about? _Who _has me wrapped around their little finger?" In preparation for the mocking he suspected would come, the Prince clenched his fists angrily while Malik simply sighed and raised his index finger to the ceiling in a gesture of supposed intelligence, "Farah, of course. I know that you sure as hell didn't bring me food on your own free will."

"Perhaps, but that has little to do with what I want to know now." The Prince sat down with folded legs and watched Malik leaned back, obviously satisfied with the meal. "Tell the truth, what happened when you–"

"–Deliberately missed." Malik finished dryly, "I was told to tell you anyway, so sit down and shut up."

"I'm already sitting."

"It was a figure of speech, specific as."

"If you're just going to argue, I'll let nature take it's course and kill you." The Prince retorted darkly, "Perhaps you could stay dead this time..." He paused with a thoughtful expression, "And how were you told to tell me?" Blue eyes flicked about the dungeon cautiously, expected to see some sort of hidden figure.

"I was about to explain that. Hold your Goddamn horses." Malik barked tensely, "It was whe–" Once again he was interrupted, this time by an eruption of shrieks and hollers from above floors. "They came faster than I would have liked." Malik muttered almost nervously as he tugged at the Daggertail, hoping dimly that it would come loose from it's stone casing.

"You did this!" the Prince exclaimed indignantly with a foul, pointing gesture.

"How?" Malik responded with a raised voice, "I've been down here starving like a dog!"

"Then how were you 'told' to tell me why you threw a perfectly good chance to kill me!" The two were now standing face to face in separate rages.

"Gods know the Empress of Time can get anywhere!" Malik bellowed, wishing that the Daggertail didn't subdue his left arm so much... the Prince could do with a punch in the mouth. "How else do you think I could look as healthy as I do right now? There's a herd of sand monsters above us after me, I suppose she believed I needed all the strength I could have."

"The Empress...?" Prince gaped shamelessly at his counterpart. "What do you mean, there is a herd of Sand Monsters above us?"

Before Malik could respond he was interrupted again, this time by Farah, "Prince!" She cried in alarm, "There are creatures all around the palace! They're coming down the stairs!" As if on queue and ugly brute emerged from the stairwell and hollered viciously upon spotting Malik.

"Shut the door, Farah!" The Prince yelled, "Hurry!" But the creature had already swarmed in frantically, shrieking and bellowing as they surrounded the three.

"Damn... I need the daggertail!" Malik hissed quickly, "We must move that boulder!" He gestured towards the massive granite rock covering his weapon, "Farah will just have to distract them long enough for us to shift it." Grabbing the Prince's forearm in a vice grip he snarled, "You hate me and I you, but if you wish for Babylon's safety you will have to work with me." He quickly locked eyes with his counterpart and only looked away when the Prince nodded grudgingly.

"Hurry!" Farah called as her quiver began lightening dangerously while ten-twelve-fifteen monsters fell heavily onto the floor dead. "I don't have enough arrows!" She added desperately.

"Try again!" Malik roared as he and the Prince struggled to shift the granite boulder. "No, no wait! Wait! This will not work!" He pushed the Prince roughly to the left and stood alone before the crowd of Sand Demons. "Come on!" He cried angrily as they charged forward recklessly.

_Three...two...one!_

Malik leapt and rolled to the left and watched the monsters pound into the block of stone, shoving it aside and revealing it's hidden treasure.

As Farah fired her final arrow, she reached for a small knife in her belt, only to have the Prince's hand on her's. "Don't..." He warned sharply under his breath, "Don't move..." He looked pointedly at Malik, who had fallen deathly still.

She followed his gaze was watched in silent awe and terror as the dark entity looked up with a feral, demonic grin, snapping his wrist and watching his weapon flying over his head. With mastery unknown to any other Malik sent his arm in an arc and drove the chain into the herd of monsters.

Blood flew through the air and splattered with disgusting drips all over the dungeon as two thirds of the monsters collapsed with cleaved heads, throats and chests while others screamed as their arms were cut off or their stomachs gutted. Those that lived only saw the pale devil standing before their dead kin with blood slathered over his white hair and skin. The daggertail rested like a snake about his feet and the green of his eyes had faded into terrible crimson, the same color as the blood spotting his face and hair.

The Prince felt himself gasp in spite of himself and watched as Malik-no- as the Dark Prince turned to he and Farah wildly, swinging the Daggertail above his head. With a snap of his wrist, the chain beared down upon the two.

Dragging Farah with him, the Prince fell onto his stomach and watched as the weapon went over them and into the neck of an imposing bird-like creature. A snort of indignity sounded from Malik as he looked at them both, then started smiling deviously. "Oh, by all means, continue on with whatever you were planning on doing. What better time than when hundred of monsters are here to watch?"

Confused by his words, the Prince felt something shift beneath him and looked to see a very red, very angry Farah. "Men!" She cried, slapping him soundly before pushing him away at which time the Prince noticed he'd caught Farah in a rather... uncomfortable position.

"Prince and Farah sitting in a tree–"

"Shut up..." Farah muttered in embarrassment as Malik sang.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G--"

"Shut up!"

"First comes love, then comes–" The dark entity was finally stopped when a hand caught his blood-stained cheek, sending him reeling over two dead beasts and onto his rump in shock.

"I said shut up, you despicable... despicable _man_!" Upon saying this she glowered furiously at the Prince as well, who offered a feeble, apologetic shrug and returned to rubbing his cheek. "Now come on! Stop crying over your faces and help me save your city!" Seeming to forget her previous anger, Farah waved them both to the door, giving Malik a particularly rough shove up the steps as they walked.

At the next stairwell the two men shared their first look that involved no hate, sarcasm or anger: An eye roll of pure exasperation towards the female race.

Said eye roll ended swiftly when Farah shrieked up ahead, just out of view, seeing how she'd insisted on being in front. "God damn... does she ever not need help?" Malik insisted as they darted towards the noise.

"Well," The Prince jumped three steps, "It sounds as though she's holding them off." There was another scream and the sound of delicate female feet against metal armor, "Or perhaps not." Malik finished dryly as they rounded the corner...

Then slid to a rough stop. Farah was being held across the fifteen foot gap before them. The staircase had been destroyed, and this abyss undoubtedly lead to the massive well beneath Babylon, unless there was another area that descended hundreds of feet below the city.

"Let her go!" The Prince shouted, remembering with vivid intensity how Kaileena had met her end.

"I think not, Prince." The beast holding Farah, now fainted from anxiety, chuckled in a scratchy voice. "Get them!" From behind three creatures pounced, one with a head resembling that of a bird, an archer, and the other two foot soldiers bearing blades.

The King's sword protected the Prince but Malik, having a daggertail that was, in all truths, a lousy shield, jumped back sub-consciously and realized far too late that there was no ground where he'd jumped. "Oh _damn_!" He cried, plummeting into the depths of black, cursing and swearing like a elderly sailor.

Malik's mind raced and he laughed against his will at the sensation of weightlessness while tears flew from his eyes at the winds billowing up at him. "There!" He shouted to himself, flinging out the daggertail at a rock ledge, thin but strong. As the weapon curled around it Malik stopped and sighed in relief as he hung there, swaying back and forth gently as a plan began forming. "Climb, would assume." He announced as an odd buzz began filling his ears.

Flicking a hand around him, Malik suspected a common fly as it got louder. Only when whatever it was echoed with a panicky tone did he realize the 'buzzing's true nature. This realization occurred five seconds before the Prince of Persia fell past, shouting wildly for help.

"I'm the unluckiest bastard in Babylon!" Malik shouted, "Gods, I knew I was right when I said that!" But alas, he wouldn't be able to save himself without the Prince's aid, so with a muttered oath Malik removed the daggertail from the ledge and free-fell with pinned arms and legs. "Prince!" He roared against the air, spotting his counterpart ahead.

Gritting teeth against the feeling of dread, Malik curled into a human ball and gained much-needed speed until, with a yell of triumph, his hand closed around the Prince's upper arm. The cry turned to one of dread though, when a new problem arose.

He couldn't stop.

There were no more ledges, and the dimly-lit floor was coming up faster than he would enjoy. With a grunt of displeasure Malik threw the daggertail against the earthy walls, watching as sparks flew away and their descent slowed dramatically. "Hold on!" He instructed with a shivering voice, seeing how the sensation of metal tearing through rock jarred his teeth and set his entire body about shaking.

With an earthshattering thud they both landed on their feet, though both also collapsed spread-eagle upon the damp floor soon after.

"I take it the well is no longer dry?" Malik observed, looking up as casually as one could with an arm that hurt to high heaven.

"It refilled itself somehow." The Prince explained, "We seem to be in a sealed off chamber."

"Great . . . " Malik moaned sarcastically, leaning his head back down and hugging his throbbing arm to him with the other.

"...Thank you . . . " He looked over at the Prince in shock to find that he was looking away somewhat darkly, as if against what he was saying.

"Oh! How heartfelt! How beautiful!" Malik exclaimed sarcastically, "Oh mercy me, he's appreciating my hard work!"

"If you are going to be that way, I suggest we find a way out of here." The Prince ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine, fine. Let's just go out a door."

"We're in a sealed off room." The Prince watched with guarded amusement as realization dawned on his counterpart.

"So . . . that means . . . "

"I hope you know how to swim."

**Voila! Another chapter(finally)! I'm sorry if this wasn't up to snuff, but I have exams and a cold on the brain. I really had to get this up earlier as opposed to later, because angry fans are flaming fans, and I just don't enjoy flames. Anyway, please tell me what you thought and be honest and brutal if need be! I'm tough. I can take some criticism!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yay! Chapter seven! And I actually loved writing about Malik's insecurity! It made me giggle and laugh hysterically!**

**Reply for Some Random Reviewer: Sorry! Sorry! I won't dis my writing anymore . Ah, exams. Awful D! Anyway, Malik and the Prince both can swim and the water doesn't kill him, but Malik does have a fear of water for reasons you shall read in the chapter to come.**

**This chapter is on the short side though. I really couldn't cross into the next idea because that will require lots and lots of room. As in a whole other chapter. Which may take a while to accomplish. SO BE PATIENT!**

**Disclaimer: Jack owns nothing but the plot. Everything else is not mine. If it was, the poor Dark Prince wouldn't have died.**

_**Chapter Seven: I'm Not Scared!**_

"Nu-uh..." Malik made a sound of protest and backed away from the imposing door that defended he and the Prince from the watery hell outside.

"Come, don't be such a child." The Prince walked over to the opposite wall and prepared to clamber up to the lever that would open their escape route. When his first foot was firmly on the earth, though, Malik released a shout of sorts and his counterpart collapsed onto the floor with a yelp of shock.

"What is wrong with you!" The Prince sat up roughly and snarled an oath.

"We..." Malik stopped speaking to think, "We could drown!" He exclaimed finally with feigned drama, "There must be hundreds of feet of water above us, and last time I checked we had no gills." To exaggerate his point, Malik wiggled his hands at his neck in a fashion that was like a fish's appendages.

"The dampness reaches only fifteen feet up the walls, fool. We will have no trouble swimming to the surface!" The Prince tried to climb up again but Malik yelled and tackled him away.

"You don't know if that's true! The wall could have increased in width!" He insisted fearfully.

"You..." Realization crossed through a set of blue eyes, "You're afraid of water! You can't swim!"

Malik froze mid-step and whirled around harshly, "I can swim!" He insisted angrily.

"Ah, but you admit to fearing the water."

"I am not afraid of water! I just don't like it is all..." Malik eyed the door hesitantly, "I am not afraid." He repeated, more to himself as opposed to the Prince. "I do not get afraid."

"Then what do you propose we do? Fly? Dig?" At the deadpanned tone Malik grimaced and sighed in defeat, "I don't care... just no swimming."

The Prince balked at his defeated tone, the arrogance and sarcastic wit faded into tenseness and unease. "Are you truly that frightened?" He asked curiously.

"For God's sake!" Malik clenched a fist, "I am not scared of water! I am uneasy about this swimming business, but I'm not scared!"

Ignoring his displeasure, the Prince delved into his memories, extracting one incident that could explain their current situation.

**Flashback**

_Around the water._

The Prince frowned as he eyed the lake before him. They had only been in this area of the kingdom for a while but already he could see there were no Sand Monsters or traps. Just a fair-sized lake. To swim through would be easiest, but his other side was putting up a wild struggle.

_Around the water, Prince._ The thing in his head instructed dryly, and the young heir knew it's face would be scrunched up with unease.

"It would be much faster to swim on through."

_Around, Prince._ The voice demanded with a growing temper.

"No." The Prince stepped into the water and felt the presence in his mind vanish as he began doing a lazy, peaceful breaststroke, assuming the arrogant creature had left to brood over his lack of care to it's desires.

Half-an-hour passed before he emerged from the liquid, dripping but otherwise please by the peace in his mind.

As soon as he was higher than knee-depth in the water, however, a wild cry of upset erupted from his other side, _I said to avoid the water, you ass!_ It exclaimed furiously, almost shrieking.

Stepping back in shock, the Prince found silence once again as he passed thigh-depth water. With a puzzled frown he stepped forward.

_Stop going in the–_

He stepped in again. Then out.

_PRINCE! STOP–_

In again. This time, however, he drifted around, enjoying the quiet lack of taunting as he circled the lake, dwelling in his thoughts and the sense of peace that came with no Sand Monsters, all of which were no doubt against entering water.

Stepping from the lake, the Prince paused and started walking, suddenly deciding his counterpart's disappearance was a bit chilling, seeing how it hadn't returned yet.

In fact, the dark entity didn't return until that night, when the Prince was miles away, and when it did, the voice was a whisper, even when shouting about how much of an idiot he was. Quite peculiar really. Not that he would ask what had happened. No, there was too much to do without worrying over some spirit's distaste for water.

**End Flashback**

"Whatever happened won't happen now that you are human." The Prince announced coolly. "What did happen, anyway? It was hours before I heard you again."

"What happened to me was the same as what happens to any creature of the Sands." Malik stated tersely, still eyeing the door with distrust.

"Which means what?"

The dark entity looked up sharply, "What happened when you shoved a Sand Monster into water, Prince?" He demanded icily.

"Usually the fall killed them."

"It was not the _fall_ that killed them," Malik said, clearly upset, "It was the water."

The Prince raised a brow questioningly at this turn of events and folded his arms, "So are you saying you died every time I went into water?" He proposed curiously.

"No. I was temporarily destroyed, but as long as you got out of the water before I was totally erased from your mind I could regroup my different abilities and make myself anew." Malik explained darkly, "And I only vanished when you were at a certain depth, which explains why you could still hear me in those little pools you used to stop your transformation."

"Why did the pools stop the infection but leave you?" The Prince wondered aloud.

"Because your- or should I say my body was composed entirely of sands, and was much more sensitive to water." Malik explained crossly.

"Well," Unbeknownst to Malik, the Prince was sidling closer to the lever, "There is only one way to see what will happen." Before he could be stopped, the heir to Babylon launched himself up the wall and released the lever to the door.

"Wh-What!" Malik gasped as the water swirled in, then panicked and grabbed at anything he could for safety. As the liquid flooded over his shoulders he released the floor and grabbed the next best thing: The Prince.

Swallowing his pride, Malik held on for dear life as his counterpart swam out and up, breaking the surface with a gasp, "What are you doing!" The Prince yelled irritably, "I can't swim for both of us!" He quickly shoved Malik off and growled when the catatonic man just sunk slightly and reattached to his arm like a child.

"You tricked me! I can't swim! I'm not good at this! I want out!" He finally shouted nervously, releasing the Prince quickly nonetheless and performing the saddest excuse for a doggie paddle in the world as he made his way to the muddy, gross wall, now holding the ledge jutting out only two feet up.

Malik stopped however, when a strange sound came from behind him. Turning slowly he cast the Prince a withering look as he snickered in the water.

"Not afraid, hmm?" The royal demanded arrogantly.

"Shut u-u-uwah!" As he spoke, Malik's grip on the muddy ledge loosened and in one second he had slid back under and with a splash he fell into the deep, impending water.

When he resurfaced the Prince was laughing hysterically, having clambered onto the ledge himself.

Sinking into the water again Malik hid his reddening cheeks and growled something inaudible before reemerging and stating simply; "I'm sure Farah will appreciate your concern."

The serious mood was restored and the Prince looked down at him crossly, "Come on, there are foot and hand holds all up the wall."

"We're climbing!"

"If you know how to fly, feel free." The Prince looked down at Malik as he clawed at the clay of the ledge desperately, looking like a drowning cat with his white-bonde hair stuck to the sides of his face and several stray parts stuck up in the air untidily.

"...Prince?"

"What is it now?"

"..." Malik slid slo-o-owly back into the water, "I appear to be stuck in the water."

**Yay! Finito! Done! Complete! Therefore, leave a review and I'll talk to you later! D Ciao!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Blah! I have returned with offerings of cookies and tea!**

**I am so terribly sorry for the wait! Exams are just around the corner, I have project due each week, and to top it all off I am doubting my Malik-portraying skills.**

**I had the next few chapter typed and ready to go, but I reread them and came to the bitter conclusion that Malik was completely out of character, as was the Prince. Thus I got up the bravery to delete it all and start anew.**

**I hope this chapter is long enough to make up for my lack of posting! Once again, I am SO sorry.**

_**Chapter Eight: The Resistance**_

"How do you plan on saving Farah-" Malik grunted as he threw his weight up another two feet, "-_again_" He finished dryly, scanning the darkness above and below for some sign of an end to the climbing. "You have no Dagger of Time. No Amulet... Are you going to chop each Sand monster down?"

The Prince looked over and brushed some sweat from his eyes, climbing to his level and beginning to speak, "Something brought them back. If I can get rid of whatever that is, I can get Farah and everything will return to order." He then continued the perilous journey out of the well.

Malik heaved a deep breath and began following, putting one hand before the other in what had become a conditioned motion. His mind sank back into thought and a twinge of irritation plucked at his tense nerves. The Prince intended to destroy what was keeping the Sand Monsters in Babylon. He was after HIM. Malik was working with a man he no doubt would come to battle with.

A pitiful hiss of breath escaped his lips and he continued staring into the abyss. He would fret about loyalties when the time came. Now he had to climb until his arms were dead and his legs scream in protest.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

With a look of contempt, Malik staggered out of the massive well seven hours later, maintaining his composure long enough to sit down sensibly and emit a loud gasp for air.

"Do not act proper on my account." The Prince muttered from his position on the ground.

"I'm not. Where exactly are we, anyway?" Malik looked around for some sort of indication, but only saw that they were in a dank, dreary room that seemed unnaturally silent. The floor was covered in dust and grime, making it obvious that wherever they were had not been touched for quite some time.

"I know where we are. It is at ground level." The Prince explained between gasps for air.

"Then come on, we are not far from the streets." Malik looked down at his counterpart, who scowled in return, "Yes, yes, yes. What about poor Farah? What if they kill her? Or defile her? Etcetera, etcetera!" He grabbed the Prince's arm in a solid grip, hauling him to his feet and out the semi-closed door roughly, "You cannot fight an army alone. We need a plan of attack, and any volunteers we can find."

"Since when have you been a voice of reason?" the Prince growled in a thoroughly miserable mood at the thought of leaving Farah alone with those beasts, "Are you not a selfish spirit made up of negative emotions and Sand?"

Malik looked at him with lacking amusement as well as a tinge of irritation, "Do not take your anger out on me. I have always steered you in the right general direction, correct?" It was true. He had always guided them in the right direction, regardless of his less-than-noble intentions.

"Was this before or after you drove me to the brink of insanity?" The Prince retorted with mild sarcasm.

"You were insane to begin with."

"Was I now? Do you forget who–" The Prince's retort fell and his eyes widened dramatically.

"Who what?" Malik raised an elegant brow expectantly, "Come now, don't leave me in suspense..." He frowned at the Prince's expression, "...There..." He felt a shiver crawl up his spine, "...is something behind me, isn't there?" He turned around slowly and stared up into the face of the largest, ugliest Sand Monster he had yet to see.

At twelve feet tall and all of seven feet wide, the beast looked more like some like of rabid Egyptian superstition. It's head was deformed and marred with blood, but two awful black eyes and an unnatural dog's maw was visible, the latter baring rows of yellow, bloodstained, but lethally sharp fangs with gobs of saliva rolling down onto the human flesh that replaced fur one would expect.

The body was composed of muscle and fat. Just as any other in all but the mass of said fat and muscle was unnaturally great, and as Malik took in the disgusting beast, he had no doubt in his mind that it could snap his own smaller frame in half without an effort.

The giant dog mouth stretched open and the monster released a fearsome shriek that chilled the two smaller beings to their core.

Blind with thoughts of bloodlust, Malik swung the daggertail above his head, uncaring toward the Prince's yells to stop. The blades were true to their target as the chain wrapped gracefully about the thing's neck.

Ripping back expectantly, Malik's face paled considerably when the mutated creature only grunted in discomfort as it's thick flesh was penetrated. It didn't collapse. Bleed. Writhe in pain.

Just fixed it's menacing gaze on he who had caused it discomfort.

"All of the fat and muscle are better defense than a suit of armor!" The dark entity yowled in sudden awareness, pulling at his arm as the daggertail seemed to sink further into the fleshy beast, trapping him within a ten foot radius.

"Fool!" From a distance, the Prince took in his surroundings, looking for something that could save Malik's own hide.

Both sets of eyes locked on a massive decorative brick of granite bulging out of the wall.

Sharing an affirmative glance, The Prince jumped onto the massive brick, towering at ten feet tall and crouched, though it was unnecessary as Malik dragged against it's neck with the jammed Daggertail, yelling profanities and threats that could blanche a sailor.

As it lumbered after the lithe blonde, what tiny mind it had was too sidetracked to see the Prince stand up again, shifting from foot to foot with the long King's Sword in his right hand.

After the dog teeth had clipped the air only inches from Malik's face, he felt a tinge of panic erupt in his chest. His gaze shot up to the Prince and his body posture relaxed greatly as the heir to Babylon landed firmly on the beast's shoulders and drove the sword through flesh, muscle- there was an audible snap- and finally bone.

The dog-human creature gave a wild howl of pain and fell slowly toward Malik, who braced himself for an addition two hundred pounds on his head.

It didn't come.

Malik looked up and saw the Demon teetered with it's human flesh paling in death, then, from the feet up it swirled into golden dust. The Sand of Time. The cloud though, rather than entering Malik's arm immediately, hovered quietly in the air, as if pulled in two directions. Finally, though, it circled into his arm with a loud gush of air.

"Convenient." Malik said brightly, welcoming the warm tingle that came with Sand. His amusement died, however, when the tingle turned into a sharp pain and the black infectious area spread to his elbow. "That was uncomfortable." He complained, clearly distressed by the pain it had caused.

The Prince stood up from where he'd rolled after the beast had fallen and frowned at the infection. "Are you-"

"Oh! Thank Heavens you both lived!"

The two looked up in unison to see a small group of people, men and women, barging across the room. In the lead was a woman, looking scarcely twenty-nine. She was certainly beautiful, which the customary dark tresses of Persia tied high on her head with two stray strands tickling her tanned cheeks. Rather than traditional women's garb, she wore men's loose trousers and tunic with a breast plate and shin guards being the only form of armor she had visible.

"Who the Hell are you?" Malik erupted, disliking the idea of being aided by anyone.

With a well-hidden groan of irritation, the Prince elbowed his rib roughly, "Show some manners." He demanded sheepishly. "We need as much help as we can get, you said so yourself."

Ignoring Malik's rude gesture towards the Prince and the curses flowing unabridged from his mouth, the woman continued, flashing them a very small smile, "I believe I underestimated your abilities. We were actually going to help your in your battle, but obviously you are far better trained than we," She gestured to the dozen people around her, "gave you due credit for."

"And who are 'we'?" The Prince questioned cautiously

"If you would care to follow us, you will see." She offered up another grin, "It is far too risky to speak where They can hear us." Turning on their heels, the group began walking away, leaving Malik and the Prince to follow.

"Shall we go?" The Prince proposed.

Malik, however, seemed rather distracted by the image of the mystery woman, "She had a marvelous body..." He finally announced with a dream-like look in his eyes.

Flushing a very light pink, the Prince glared at his counterpart, "Pervert," He voiced his personal opinion that was certainly not far from the truth, "I will assume that that translates into yes."

"I am not a pervert," Malik clarified indignantly, walking after the group, "I was simply mentioning that most human men would consider her body desirable. Surely you must have–"

"I, unlike you, am focused on finding Farah."

"Well I'm sure you and Farah have done more than chat about the weather!" Malik exclaimed with raised arms, "You cannot expect me to believe that you have–"

The Prince flushed a deeper pink at what his counterpart was so blatantly speaking of, "This is not the place for such conversation!" he barked loudly.

"If not now, then when?" Malik retorted snidely, "What we speak of is not unknown to any in this group, correct?"

The mass before them, having discreetly tuned into their argument, voiced their agreement(Men with more spirit than women). The leading woman eyed the arguing men with a raised brow. They were either very trusting, very brave, or very stupid to follow this guild along Babylon's side streets with no questions.

"Where the hell are we going, anyway?"

Speak of the Devil.

"It is unsafe to speak of it here." the woman announced.

Malik wasn't satisfied, "Then who the hell are _you_?"

"You have an affinity for hell, don't you?" The woman sneered, "Perhaps you crawled from it's depths." her pseudo-smile returned, "I am Jamila."

The Prince watched with interest as Malik reeled back as if struck. This 'Jamila' character was certainly brave. Perhaps to a fault.

"Jamila. An Egyptian name." Malik recited boldly. Between returning to life and meeting the Prince he had discovered a strong calling towards the origins of names. Oddly enough, hers stood out in his memory, "It means beautiful." He let the statement hang, "Your mother must have had very bad taste in beauty." Smirking dryly at his come back, Malik watched her thin face burn red, then white with emotion.

"You ungrateful bastard!" She finally yelled with short temper, a strong Egyptian accent coming through, "I offer you and the Prince safety and this is my payment? An argument?" The mass of armed men and women fell back away from her as she fumed.

"Stop whining. I am curious as to where we are going." Malik folded his arms and the Prince groaned into his hands. "Come _on_."

A tense half-hour passed with an irritable Jamila. Malik seemed to have reverted back to what the Prince considered his 'Voice' stage. Anything that came from his mouth was sarcastic, and intended to hurt and the voice itself seemed an octave higher, suspiciously familiar to that which is had once been.

"Here we are." Jamila said briskly, stopping before a tall, weapon-beaten door that seemed far from giving in.

Rapping cleverly on the wood, a thin window opened and two brown eyes observed the ragtag group before closing. The sound of locks turning and handles being pulled came as the mahogany gate swung open, revealing a loud, boisterous place filled with weapons of every nature and hoards of brutish, athletic and lanky men and women, all toting one safeguard or another.

With a grandeur sweep of the arms, Jamila entered the foyer of what could pass as an old Babylonian estate, "Welcome to the Resistance"

**NEW CHAPTER! Fwee! Due to exams, the next update will take quite a while ; Sorry, folks, but schoolwork comes first.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Look! It's a bird! It's a Plane! It's the long-awaited chapter of Doom!**

**Oi, sorry doesn't even cover how I feel, but I won't get into that. What you lot SHOULD know is that this chapter contains just the slightest inkling of Dark Prince/Farah pairing. I'm not saying I'm having any romance at all in this story, nor am I saying that I'll have that pairing if I did. The situation presented in this Chapter just... worked much better with a bit of sappy mush in it XD!**

** Forgive me, mush-haters!  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own nothing. Zip. Nada. Squat. Zero. Zilch. Etc.**

**_Chapter 9- Hero_  
**

"Resisitance?" The Prince followed Jamila's movements as she walked across the foyer and ran a hand along the wooden railing of a staircase leading up, where three men were laughing over a series of crude jokes.

"Resistance." Jamila repeated calmly, turning her dark brown eyes upon the two of them, watching as Malik sidled to the right and started poking and prodding at a damp, dripping shell. "I wouldn't do that." She said coolly, continuing her walk.

A yelp resounded through the hall and Malik ripped away from the shell, which had transformed into a very upset turtle.

"The children should know better than to let them out." Jamila said softly, grabbing the beast before Malik could complete his very graphic thoughts on it. "Though you DID deserve it." With a raised brow, she watched as he huffed angrily.

"Why is this the first time I have heard of any kind of resistance?" The Prince questioned gravely. "It would have been much appreciated the last time something like this happened."

"Last time, Prince, we were all caught unawares. No one anticipated the arrival of crazed beasts composed entirely of Sand." Jamila turned on her heel and took in their appearance. "This time it was you who were taken by surprise, and we who were prepared, correct?"

"We weren't _totally_ unprepared." Malik folded his arms and snorted. "At least _I_ was not." He looked sidelong at the Prince, who flustered and threw his hands up. "And I was! _You_ are the one that resembled a dying fish when they came through the door!"

Before another argument could erupt, Jamila launched into a loud explanation of what exactly the Resistance was. "We take in those who cannot fight for themselves. Children, elderly citizens, women..." She turned around and quirked a small smile. "We also have a force of soldiers that rival your own elite guards." She then gestured to the right, where dozens of weapons were lined up against the wall. "We are prepared for anything and everything."

Malik grimaced at the boredom he knew would come very shortly and looked at the Prince almost pitifully. "Do we _have_ to listen to her ramble on about how wonderful she is?" He asked bitterly, casting a heated glare at Jamila's turned back.

"Yes, so do not be disrespectful." The Prince threw Malik a warning glance and turned away, causing the entity to snigger quietly. "What is so funny?" Prince asked cautiously, not entirely sure if he wanted to know how the mind of his opposite worked.

"You! You also think that this whelp thinks a bit too highly of herself! Admit it!" Of course, his laugh fell into a tense silence as Jamila whipped around.

"If you are not interested, you can go look around for yourself!" She hissed.

"Alright, I will!" Malik waved in sarcastic merriment and began walking in the opposite direction while Prince rolled his eyes, sighed, and encouraged Jamila to continue.

Xxxxx

"'If you are not interested, you can look around for yourself'!" Malik mimicked rudely as he erupted into an empty, simple room. "How annoying." Finally looking up, he took in the room slowly, taking his time by focusing on each part of the decor that stood out. A wooden chair that appeared to be old and worn. A rusty nail that had probably been pulled loose from said chair years ago. A sizeable square of mismatched wood upon the floor, acting perhaps as a door to a cellar? After all, with so many people under one roof, there had to be some sort of place to store food.

Hesitantly, Malik crouched and peered steadily into the floor until the craving for some good food got the better of him and, digging his fingernails unto the crevice between the two types of wood he hauled up, revealing an old, dry set of stairs leading unto an unnerving black abyss.

"Look at yourself!" He reprimanded irritably when a gut-feeling stopped his walking. "Afraid of the dark..." Malik snorted bitterly and began his descent. "I _am_ the dark."

However, after two minutes filled with stumbling, tripping, cursing and head-hitting, Malik changed his mind about being darkness reincarnate, and about there being anything edible below ground. "I'm sure most denizens of darkness do not go about beating their heads within their own element... and I'm sure they have more satisfactory places to store food."

Of course, talk of elements started his short attention span into gear and, as Malik's view became sharper in the light, or lack thereof, his mind wandered. "Is darkness an element?... I always thought it was fire, water, earth and air... If you added anything, the entire world would be thrown out of balance..." Running a hand through his hair, Malik closed his eyes and sighed. "And if there is darkness, there is light, and if there is light and dark, then there must be ice to be fair... so then fire would have two opposites?"

"The guards just get stranger and stranger..."

"I'm not strange, nor am I a guard– wait! What? Who said that?" Malik scanned the blackness for life and heard shuffling to his left. Feeling along the wall, his palm landed at the edge of a window then continued on to meet bars and finally an appendage he recognised as a nose... maybe?

Smirking boyishly, he pinched his forefinger and thumb over it and heard a squeak of pain. Yes, definitely a nose. Now to learn the identity of the nose. "Who are you? Do I know you?"

The darkness hid her face, but Malik recognized the next sentence immediately: "Release my nose and tell me where Prince is!"

"Of course, M'lady." He released the appendage and heard a series of muffled complaints. "No need for thank-you's, Dear Prince is above us, being given a tour of this place by another woman." Even in the dark, Malik made the motion to be staring nonchalantly at his fingernails whilst Farah hissed in vexation. "A very _pretty _other woman if you ask me..."

"And where is here?" Farah attempted to keep her cool as Malik wheedled around her questions slyly. "Who was this woman? Why is Prince with her? Why are _you_ not with this woman?"

"Here is a Resistance of sorts, organized by the Babylonian citizens to the extent of my knowledge. That woman is called Jamila. Prince _says_ he wants to learn about the Resistance, but I don't believe him, not with the Living Bosom at his side." Malik took a deep breath. "And, Farah, if I didn't know better, I would believe you think me some sort of perverse deviant!"

Farah kneaded her brow and sighed loudly. "You speak in circles, and do not get me started on the level of your perverseness!" She caught herself from giving him a full lecture. "But, this woman... what did she look like, Malik? I need details!"

Feeling that his sarcasm be best forsaken at the moment, Malik frowned into the black abyss. "She has very dark hair... and her face is rather... straight... Much like a horse, actually." Like a child, he chortled at the comparison. "She dresses very much like you! Very scantily-clad lass, showing off those stunning abdominal regions to the monarchy!"

His laugh echoed through the underground world and Farah blanched. "Oh no... no!" Her arms slithered out through the bars and clamped over Malik's mouth. "Be quiet! Prince is in great danger and you need to get me out!" When he seemed to be hesitating, Farah snarled an unladylike oath. "_Now!_"

"Who do you hate more than anyone else in the world, Girl?"

Taken aback by the serious and spontaneous nature of his question, Farah made herself out to be a fool, stumbling over her words. "Well... I su-suppose the Visier. But that has little to do with our current situation."

"Did you know that comparing the relationship between Prince and the Visier, who took everything away from him, and the Prinec and I, the latter is by far backed with more hate?" Farah squinted through the darkness, and found his gaze boring into hers. "Why would I want to go on some cock-and-bull adventure to save my worst enemy?" With his voice lowered and contained rage bubbling forth, Malik began pacing like a cornered animal, all thoughts of Kaileena and her warnings pushed away to allow his vicious nature to burn through.

"_Why_ are you all so positive I care about the Prince's fate? I say let the bastard die! I say let you all die!" Farah stumbled back at the force of his words, finding she would much rather screaming and yelling than the terrifying, dangerous fury that smothered his words. "Let Babylon fall to it's knees and let it's savior hang for all I could care!"

Malik felt a clenching in his chest that was unfamiliar, but ignored it as he continued. "_I_ was not created to feel sorrow, or pleasure, or anything of that sort! All I feel is hate and rage!" He broke off and looked away from Farah sighing heavily. "Can you imagine what that– no, of course you can not..." With a tight voice, Malik subconsciously rubbed his eyes, who had been tingling most peculiarly for moments now. "Come... I will try to get you out."

"Are... you alright?" Farah croaked uneasily as Malik studied the hinges carefully. "I apologise if–"

Pulling on an incrediby false smirk, he looked up and sniggered in a familiar fashion. "Hark! The beast feels for another creature, or are my eyes and ears decieving me?" He crouched back down and she tried to poke her head through the bars. "I am serious, you know..." She added uncertainly.

"As am I!" Malik snapped tensely. "I am fine!"

As he worked to remove the hinges, however, a lonely drop of salty liquid fell from one of his tingly eyes and formed a perfect, silvery, glistening track to his chin, where it hesitated and fell softly onto the dry ground with an inaudible splash.

And then, hearing dozens of soldiers feet filing through the hole he had stupidly forgotten to cover, Malik realised what poor timing these strange new emotions pounced with.

"Hide!" Farah hissed angrily as the footfalls grew louder. "Go get Prince! Whoever he is with-" She lowered her voice and Malik leaned in to listen. "Whoever he is with puts him in grave danger." When Malik rolled his eyes at the prospect of saving the Prince, Farah grabbed his upper arm, carefully avoiding the Daggertail. "_Please_, Malik."

Ripping his arm away from her hand, Malik took on an affronted look. "Fine." He growled. "I'll try to get him." He cast one last glance at the bars and shook his head, slipping past the guards with ease, being now used to the lack of light, while they were blinded by it.

Finding Prince, however, was proving quite difficult. The manor was surprisingly massive, and each room was bare of any kind of life, except one that seemed to act as a nursery, harboring a dozen young children and an exhausted caretaker.

"Ah, Prince!" Malik exclaimed, running into a sitting room where his counterpart and Jamila were sitting. "Prince, if I could have a word?" He danced in the balls of his feet impatiently. "NOW?"

Looking once more at Jamila's curious expression, the Prince stood up and followed Malik into a deserted, dank room, where he watched with guarded interest as Malik hastily paused to think. "Are you just going to stand there all day, or tell me something?" He finally asked darkly.

Heaving a deep breath, Malik tried to explain. "There is a basement... no... well... a cellar, really. Anyway, Prince, in this basement-cellar, your 'Dearest Jamila' is holding a particular captive."

With obvious disbelief, Prince encouraged Malik to keep going.

"I don't know much yet, she didn't really explain, but she has Farah down there, Prince." Malik grimaced at how stupid this sounded to him, let alone Prince. "I'm not lying!" He added hastily. "Not this time, anyway. You have to believe me!"

But, as his face burned in anger, Malik suspected that the Prince, in fact, did _not_ believe him. "You ARE jealous, aren't you?" He snapped. "You want all the attention from everyone! When Jamila decides to pay you as much respect as you her, you decide she's devised a way to kidnap Farah!"

Malik attempted to cut off this rant before it began, but found that his vocal cords were on strike. "This building has no cellar! I happen to trust Jamila! Of course, after all I've seen you do, I'm still surprised you have not stabbed me in my sleep!"

"Fine." Malik hissed coldly. "Fine! I'll do it myself, and I'll be sure to tell her how eager you were to come to her rescue," He sneered "'_My Hero_'!" Turning on his heel, Malik stormed out the door and glared at Jamila, who had evidently heard it all through the cheap wood.

She smiled coldly and brushed past him into the room, giving off the air of a woman who had, without a doubt, won at her own game.

"Fine..." Malik repeated with less certainty. "I'll be the bloody hero..."

**And there you go, my wonderful, kind, awsome friends! A long-awaited chapter! Unfortunately, the next one may take just as long, seeing how I haven't got a computer anymore(I'm using a neighbor's right now)...**

**But, wish me luck anyway! Tell me how this chapter was, so I know if or if not I've still got a knack for Prince of Persia writing XD.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Alright. Very quick Author's Note.**

**School is started in two days. Sad, I know. So this story will probably be going VERY slowly.**

Chapter 10: Playing With Fire 

If Malik had felt uneasy before, it was nothing compared to now.

Farah was in no way being supportive. In fact, she was making him incomparably edgy.

"He left me?" She hissed once again, after the guards had finished their rounds. "You are sure he refused to come?" She studied him with such utter loathing one might believe Malik was the one refusing to save her.

"No! He offered quite politely and I spat in his eye!" He exclaimed sarcastically. "Of _course_ he refused, you nauseating wench!" Folding his arms, Malik looked away. "So, deal with my help or rot."

Farah scoffed loudly. "Well, I apologize if I assumed I was of higher importance to him than some common… common…"

"Whore? Fool? Idiot? Infidel? Inferior Being?" Malik supplied half-heartedly as Farah practically spat acid.

"All of that and more!" She agreed loudly. "You would think his wife would mean more than—"

Malik blinked and studied Farah in surprise. "You are married?" He raised a brow expectantly, waiting for some kind of explanation. "Why wasn't I invited to the wedding?"

Farah flushed and looked at the ceiling of her cell. "Well… we are not married yet… but in the summer we will be… if I do not kill him first." She ground her teeth furiously and Malik grinned widely.

"Relocation, death and divorce are the three most stressful events in life," He said slowly, looking at Farah cheekily. "I see by the end of this, we will have covered each one."

"Be quiet and open this door." Farah gestured at the locked entrance boldly and Malik made a face.

"I'm going as quickly as I can. These hinges are complicated." He tapped one of them roughly in example and blinked when it fell apart. "Oh." Repeating the motion on the above hinge, however, proved difficult.

"I can't reach!" Malik strained his arm desperately, but could only flick the bottom gently.

Farah looked at him blandly. "Come… you can't be that short!" When he stood straight, however, she noticed, for the first time since meeting him in the Babylonian dungeons, that Malik was, indeed, a mere inch taller than she, definitely several shorter than the Prince.

"What are you looking at?" Malik asked sharply after standing on his tiptoes and performing a type of inane, wriggling dance in an attempt to release the hinge above him. "Was that…"? Farah now had his utter attention. "Did you just snort at me?"

Well, it was impossible not to, knowing his reputation! Seeing a very evil man jump around because of being exceptionally short… it was funny.

Malik, however, did not enjoy being the butt of Farah's little joke, and scowled furiously as she almost cried with mirth. "You're going to draw the attention of every person in this building, unless they are accustomed to prisoners _shrieking_ in laughter!" Finally knocking the hinge loose, Malik caught the door when it swayed back toward him and hastily moved it aside.

"Come on, we must go before someone—"

"Realizes you've become too caught up in Zurvan's plans." A silky voice finished behind him.

Malik whipped around and the Daggertail was poised on the ground, ready for attack. Zurvan's… she couldn't mean… "The Vizier?"

Jamila smiled softly and stood just out of reach. "Now, now. I'm sure I could make your death quite painless. But, you see, your death is imminent for my Lord's rule over Babylon. He needs Sand." She stepped forward until she and Malik were mere inches apart. "It is a shame, though… Malik." Her smile widened. "You are actually quite handsome…"

"Get your filthy hand off me…" Malik ground out as her fingers traced his jaw.

"Now, now… don't be bitter."

From his side, the Daggertail snapped to attention and streaked through the air, slicing a thin line through Jamila's cheek, and causing her to flush in fury.

"You-you dare--!" She stuttered as blood marred her cheek.

Malik grinned cheekily and his hand folded rather cockily. "Well, if I didn't, your cheek would still be intact. A shame you moved your head, though. I was aiming to split open your skull."

"Imperfection!" Jamila screamed, making Malik step back in shock at her distress. "This is imperfection! I am imperfect!" She drew two knives from her belt and let out a screech. "Damn you!" She cried, lunging forward and attacking with enough force to knock Malik onto his back and into the wall.

"You… aren't human…." He uttered darkly, staggering to his feet as Jamila's eyes flashed yellow. He knew no woman could be that strong.

She was a Sand monster. A very humanoid beast, but one nonetheless.

She grinned. "Surprised, are you?" She lunged forward and one of the knives drilled into the ground where his belly had been a moment before. "Come! Fight me in your true form!" She jumped again and Malik stumbled back.

_His true form._

"I can't!" He insisted angrily. "I—"

Jamila released a howl of fury. "You do not think me _strong_ enough? You believe it would be a waste of time!" She plunged forward again. "Fight me!" She screamed, successfully making Malik quite sure his hearing would never be the same.

Catching one of the blades in the Daggertail, Malik grimaced as he slowly lost the battle of strength, getting forced back against the wall and quite randomly noticing a trough of water nearby, hidden by shadows.

"Fight me properly!" Jamila shrieked. It was her dream that she would return to her Lord Zurvan having defeated the one mortal who stood between him and being a God.

But she wanted to bare the signs of a grand battle! She wanted to make him proud enough to forgo that woman she'd been forced to steal away! She would be the Goddess! But only if he fought! Only if there was a struggle!

"Fight me!" She shouted again, throwing her entire person into one thrust.

Watching in shock as the blade arced toward his chest, Malik opened his mouth in awe; "I'm going to die…"

In a flash of light, however, Jamila was thrown away and tendrils of darkness wove their way around Malik, encasing him as he floated into the air and winced. It certainly hurt more than he liked, as though his innards were melting and rearranging themselves.

With a small gasp, his vision vanished momentarily and he fell, still clouded by shadows. As he stood, however, sight returned, sharper than he could recall, as were his other senses.

Looking down at his hands, he began to laugh, a high, loud sound that resonated through the area as the Dark Prince grinned, baring devilishly sharp teeth at Jamila. His skin, now the color of coal, was laced with gold and his eyes were without irises or pupils, just the color of Sand.

"My true form?" He mocked, lashing out with the Daggertail and sending Jamila sprawling onto her back. "You honestly think you're going to live through this?" His eyes crinkled as he laughed again. "Idiotic whelp!" He hissed, whipping the chain into her shoulder and relishing in the cry she gave in response.

"What's going on!" Leaping down the steps two at a time, the Prince suddenly stopped short and stared at the Dark Prince, who looked up from Jamila's fallen form maliciously and studied him. "Wh-How-W-…" He looked at Farah, who was behind him, and trying to look around to see what had made him stop so suddenly.

"What are you staring at?" The entity snapped. "It's not like you haven't seen—…!" He was cut off when Jamila sent a powerful kick into his chest, sending him stumbling into the water trough.

With a shocked cry, he felt the pain again, and was encircled by bright blue tendrils. "Ach!" Malik stood up shakily and glared at Prince, who had visibly relaxed. That stupid _idiot! _ His distraction had lost him his edge!

But Jamila couldn't attack anyway. Her shoulder was now bleeding quite profusely(A/N: Sand Monsters DO bleed, right? O.o).

"I'm sorry, Lord Zurvan!" She cried, "I'm sorry!" Lunging forward unexpectedly, she tore a gash through Malik's side and fled up the stairs. There was the sound of many footfalls, shouting, and confusion… then nothing.

"Are you alright?" The Prince walked forward and Malik nodded, holding his wound nonetheless.

"I'm fine… but did you hear her?" He looked up darkly. "Zurvan. The Vizier." He smirked humorlessly. "Things just keep getting better and better." Malik grmaced and touched a hand to his brow. Where had this infernal migraine come from?

"I'm… sorry I didn't listen to you." The Prince said sheepishly, looking away and waiting for the sarcastic remarks to flood in.

Malik, however, was in too much pain to care. His head felt like it was splitting. "Yes… your welcome… whatever." He murmured. "Next time you—"

They never got to hear the end of his sentence, for Malik's eyes had closed and he slumped forward, unconscious.

**Who can tell me why he passed out? Think, it's actually pretty easy.**

**Anyway, I am actually REALLY happy about how this chapter turned out. And I please all of you, hopefully, by bringing in our charcoal-friend. Even if it was only for a second or two.**

**Cheers!**


	11. Chapter 11

**APOLOGY AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER**

**Chapter 11: Friendship or More?**

The Prince rushed forward and caught Malik before he fell, the body made him stumble, but with a hefty sigh, he managed to sling his opposite rather roughly over his shoulder. His mind was still on Jamila, and the news that Zurvan could in fact, be alive and in action. It made sense.

He blamed Malik.

This had, after all, started with him. Being resurrected, resurrecting the Sand with him, ruining Prince's future of happiness for a second time. Maybe it would be easier to just slit his throat and be done with it.

The monarch's fingers itched toward his blade. It would be akin to slaying a rabid dog. Kinder for the world to just kill it before it could return the favor. This was hardly a different situation. Malik-- no, the Dark Prince felt no sympathy or regret! He would simply kill Prince and Farah as soon as they'd killed the Vizier! No justice could be reached for the thing that had made his life Hell.

But Farah... she saw the dark Prince, Malik, as a human being and seemed to treat him as such. Prince watched rather numbly as she poked and prodded the wound upon his other's side. A look of concern had split her face and she seemed truly upset at the lack of response. How could she feel pity for something so full of darkness? The Prince felt confusion knawing at his insides, but didn't pursue it. If it were Farah's wish that Malik be saved, he would do so against his own will.

Meanwhile, Farah was deep-set in regret as she assessed Malik's wound. It was deep and bleeding, yet she knew it could not have brought on such a comatose state as quickly as it had. She felt her throat tighten and shook her head. '_Look at yourself_' She scolded. '_You shouldn't care this much_'. And yet she did. To the Prince, this might have been the dark entity that had made him suffer, that had mocked him and driven him half into madness... but to her, this was a man who had saved her from a cell and perhaps death, fought only moments ago to protect her, and that she had grown considerably close to. Her index and middle fingers drifted to his neck and Farah smiled grimly to herself as a pulse fluttered beneath her digits. It was slow and dim, but it was there. "There is still time." She said firmly to Prince, who looked as though he'd swallowed a lime. "Whatever she did hasn't killed him."

"Yet."

Farah balked at the Prince-- who had, in recent months, come to treasure the lives of those around him more than any amount of gold-- speak with such contempt. Though he held Malik and was willing to do what he would to aid in his recovery, it shocked the woman beyond words to be able to almost '_smell_' the dislike- the _hate_ that rolled off her betrothed. '..._Comparing the relationship between Prince and the Vizier, who took everything away from him, and then he and I, the second is by far backed with more hate_' Malik's words rang through her head and Farah grit her teeth. "I do not know what your thoughts are toward Malik, nor do I want to know," She began solidly. The Prince looked up suddenly but she didn't bother caring. "However, he is dying. If he does die, then the Vizier-- Zurvan will gain more Sand and our battle will become impossible." She stepped forward and gently hugged his free arm. "For the good of Babylon, Prince..." Farah reminded him softly.

"Babylon." He agreed stiffly. "Only for Babylon." He then hefted Malik further onto his shoulder and walked up the stairs, followed shortly by Farah, whose face remained a mask of uncertainty. "Hurry," He called from above. "I know where we can go." The Prince stared across the foyer of the Resistance Base and acknowledged the mess that indicated a very hurried retreat. A soft, almost inaudible sound came from above and he pulled out his dagger, brandishing it with one hand while the other supported Malik's prone form. "Who's there?" He called tensely. "Show yourself!"

Farah stopped behind him and frowned. "Prince?" She walked to stand beside him, as the monarch had stopped his act of defender and seemed to be looking at something in the stairwell.

"Just a cat." he said suddenly, "Come, Farah. We're wasting time here." He began walking again.

"It's a _kitten_, Prince, and I am not leaving it behind to die." Farah said firmly, already holding the beast. Black fur covered its body and two huge, magnetic, green eyes watched him with unnerving disapproval. However, as Farah's hand stroked its head, eye contact was broken and the creature began humming deep in it's chest. Cats had always been her weakness. Dogs were slobbery, gross, uncleanly brutes. Cats, however, were the epitome of class and grace, Farah held the kitten to her chest though she knew that keeping it with them was a preposterous idea.

"No, Farah." The prince argued in exasperation. "We have enough problems without an animal with us." He pointed at Malik's body with the face of a pompous teenager. "Now, leave that beast and come before he dies." With a shake of his head, Prince walked toward the door.

However, as he turned, Farah smirked to herself, retrieving a cloth sack that had been foolishly dropped by some poor soul as the Resistance was evacuated. She smiled fondly at the kitten and tucked it into the bag, closing it carefully and chasing the Prince into Babylon's streets, where he was calming down a pair of horses that had been abandoned in the fighting.

It made her heart bleed when Farah looked at what had once been the city's proud central market. While during the Sand's last reign the streets had been decimated, this time it was merely empty… dead…

Why did it feel more foreboding?

The vendor's stalls were filled with fruit that had by now decayed, and fruit flies were so plentiful that a peach had the appearance of a bubbling black lump. "So… sad." Farah said softly as the Prince set Malik in the cart behind the horses and clambered aboard. "Where are we going?" She asked quietly, as though raising her voice among such sadness was a sin of its own.

"To the only one left that may know how to save him…" Prince replied grimly, urging the horses into a fast pace. The cart clattered noisily at first from misuse, but fell into a pattern of creaks and rattles. "Is he still breathing?"

Farah kneeled beside Malik's form and gently felt his pulse. She breathed in relief as it's weak pumping continued. "Yes." The Prince gave the appearance of a man secretly disappointed and Farah felt the urge to slap him.

The rest of the journey was punctured by occasional questions on Malik's well being and the atmosphere was strained, making Farah grimace whenever the wheels gave a particularly ominous screech. "Please, Prince." She suddenly blurted. "I know you cannot wish him well, but your grudge is going to mean your life- I know it." Her eyes softened as he tensed at the reins. "You may not believe me, Prince, but he's a good man." She instinctively ran her thumb through Malik's white locks. "I know what he has done to you, but do you know what he has done for us both?"

The Prince turned slightly and watched her out of the corner of his eye. "What has he done for us, Farah?" He asked quietly.

She frowned. "You trapped him in a dungeon and he still saved us from being slaughtered before our journey had even begun. He saved me from that cell while _you_ refused to listen. He protected me from that wretched woman, he—"

"Enough!" The Prince spurred on the horses and grudgingly nodded. "I accept that, Farah… and…" He looked as though there were a foul taste in his mouth. "I thank him… however, I cannot forget what he has done against me." The monarch shook his head. "Never. I will never forgive him." He looked back and smiled grimly. "But for you I will help him."

"You're both so kind…"

The couple jumped and the horses sped up as Malik sat up. His face was pale beyond compare, and before he could get another word out, the entity had thrown his head over the cart's edge and vomited. As he retched, Farah laid her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" She asked worriedly.

He weakly looked up. "Of course… I always projectile-vomit in delight. Watch—" He retched again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That happens to be half-digested joy." Malik grimaced.

"You're ill." Farah said hastily. "Lie back." She pushed against his chest and the man smirked through his obvious pain. "My, and here I thought all your intentions were noble." She scowled and harshly shoved him into the bundles of cloth that had been in the cart before they'd gotten to it.

A wild yowl tore through the air and Malik released a cry of shock, jolting up, stumbling, and falling into another bundle. "What the _hell_ was that?!" He shouted, holding his leg. "It bit me!"

Farah flushed and grabbed the struggling sack, drawing out the kitten and holding it closely. "I'm sorry, I forgot." She looked at the Prince, who was trying to regain control of the horses while shaking his head.

She blinked when the kitten scrambled away from her to approach Malik. He glowered at it menacingly. "I'm wounded." He informed the beast. "Go away." The foolish cat merely meowed loudly and leapt onto his chest. Malik made a face and tried to raise his hand to shove it away, but found the previous jumping and yelling had exhausted him. "Mmm—go 'way…" He mumbled, slipping once more into sleep.

Farah shook her head and moved to sit beside the Prince. She leaned into his side and quite promptly joined her other companions in slumber.

"Utter foolishness." Prince murmured, looking at them all.

But as he turned back to the street, a smile quirked upon his lips.

It was thirty minutes before Farah was shaken awake. "We're here." Prince said simply, gesturing toward the building they were situated before. Upon the outskirts of Babylon, it was a small, insignificant hut.

She watched in confusion as the Prince strode to the veil that acted as a door and rapped on the wall. "Hello?" he called.

There was a series of shuffles, and the decrepit Old Man who had rallied the Babylonians as well as proven to be a mentor for the Prince appeared in the doorway. "My Prince," He croaked benevolently, "What can an old man do for you?"

Prince rested his hand on the elder's shoulder. "I need your aid… a… comrade of mine has been poisoned." He walked to the cart and shook Malik into wakefulness; hastily brushing the kitten away as he heaved the half-conscious man to the ground and, holding one of his arms around his neck, aided the dark entity in limping to stand before the Old Man.

"Mmm…" The elder studiously eyed Malik as he slumped forward on Prince's shoulder. "Yes, most certainly poison." He rapped on the white-haired head and Malik looked up grumpily. "How do you feel?"

The only response the old Man was given was a gob of vomit that hit the ground with a sickening splash.

However, that only served to amuse him, and the Man pleasantly gestured that they all enter his hut.

"A common poison." He said after seeing to it that Malik was settled on a mat upon the floor. "With a complicated antidote." He then shuffled over to a crooked, ancient-looking cupboard that very easily fit the atmosphere of the entire hut. "Ah, you're in luck." He withdrew a thin vial. "I already have some." Farah and the prince waited tensely as the Old Man shuffled back.

"Before I administer the antidote—" Malik gave a prolonged moan here "My Prince, may I speak to you elsewhere?" He gestured toward the door and Prince nodded somewhat distractedly, having been focused on Farah's dabbing Malik's forehead with a cloth whilst the feline she'd smuggled from the Resistance Base had once more rested upon Malik's chest.

However, as soon as they were outside, his attention was solely on his mentor of old. "That man reeks of foul intentions and darkness." The Old Man said bluntly without hesitation. "Why do you want to heal someone so foul?" His weathered hands remained clasped around his staff but Prince was aware that those sunken, sharp eyes following his every move.

"I do not approve of it any more than you do." He said truthfully after a long pause. "But I cannot kill him. He is an ally I cannot do without and he holds the key to winning this battle." The Prince stared down at his feet. "I plead that you heal him. It will do all of Babylon good." He met the Old Man's gaze without hesitation now and the Elder nodded tiredly.

"I will heal him. But hear me, my Prince, do not trust him. His mind is clouded and confused. He seeks to escape an inevitable fate as you once did. Do not forget the desperation that once drove you to any length." He stared at the prince calmly and the monarch knew better than to question his wisdom on their situation. "I will heal him. But I will not allow him to stay under my care for long. The darkness of him makes my very soul feel like Death is about it."

"Then he _is_ evil—"

"No!" The old Man barked with such strength that The Prince stepped back. "You are still so young, My Prince… not yet do you realize the strong differences between the Darkness and Evil." He shook his head. "That man is what you have been, will be, and are. You are the same, yet so different and you share a bond closer than any other in this World." He rested his old, tired hand on the royals shoulder. "You will realize this someday, Prince… I only pray it is not too late…"

The prince caught up with the Old Man as he walked back toward the hut. "Too late? For what?"

"I will heal him now."

Malik had, by now sat up and was weakly talking to Farah while stroking the kitten's head. "—why he doesn't like cats." He looked up as the two entered and Farah began giggling behind her hand, an act the Prince hadn't seen for too long.

"What are you laughing at?" He smiled at her happiness.

"Malik was telling me of the cat you had as a child." She explained airily. "Did it honestly bite you—"

The Prince turned rather red and glowered at Malik who smirked smugly back. Damn him and his intimate knowledge of his memories. "Yes." He answered Farah rather bitterly. "Yes it did."

The old Man kneeled beside Malik and uncorked the vial. "Don't move." He said softly, dabbing the substance along the edge of the wound before splashing the rest into the middle, quickly wiping it around with his finger before Malik wailed and lunged away. "It hurts more than the blade did!" He exclaimed angrily.

The Old Man merely shrugged. "Go to sleep."

"No I am NOT going to sleep, you old geezer! In fact, I think I'll stay awake just to mock you! Yes, I think I will do just that." Malik stubbornly set his jaw and folded his arms.

Farah sighed and leaned against the Prince. It was rather nice to see things returning to as normal as their lives could be. "Please, Malik, rest while you can."

He looked at her wearily. "And if I don't?"

"…"

Her look said it all and Malik wilted slightly. "Meh…"

Prince watched the exchange with a wary eye. He felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily his opposite seemed to make Farah smile and laugh… in fact, it infuriated him beyond logic. His hate for the entity seemed to constantly increase.

As Malik finally slept, Farah also leaned against the wall and drifted off. He looked at the Old Man as he too drifted to the bed in the corner and lay down.

But the Prince didn't sleep that night.

He had been about to, but then to his horror Farah's head had fallen from the wall and rested comfortably—too comfortably—on Malik's shoulder as the kitten also slept undisturbed on his chest.

So the Monarch stayed awake as the sun finally set, drinking slowly from a blown-glass bottle and watching the Embodiment of Darkness hold the only treasure Prince wanted in his arms.

And as the sun rose like a disc above Babylon, the bottle shattered.

**THE APOLOGY **

**Okay. I have suffered for a few months wondering whether or not it's worth the trouble to continue this story. As you may have noticed, I decided it was.**

**I apologize profusely for vanishing, humble readers, and beg your forgiveness. **


	12. Chapter 12

**No excuses. Just an apology to anyone who wasted their time waiting for an update. Well, here it is! I'm proud to say that I'll be taking this fic up again(Hopefully with some more regularity). I'm sorry for the hiatus.**

**Disclaimer: Prince of Persia is not mine, though I do claim the concept of Malik as my own.**

**Chapter 12: Unapproachable**

As the sound of crumbling glass permeated through the cabin, Malik's eyes shot open and he blinked several times to readjust to the vague light of dawn that was tickling through the curtains. For a few moments it felt almost surreal– like nothing was wrong– but then the splitting pain of his wound began to throb and he was distinctly aware that his right shoulder was absolutely freezing, as though it had slipped into ice water while he had slept.

Daring to glance to the side, Malik's eyebrows rose unexpectedly at the sight of Farah, who seemed quite comfortable with her head resting upon his shoulder. She was cold... Malik shivered and gracefully slipped away from her, disrupting the cat who had been happily snuggled against his warm chest.

He reached up and half-consciously rubbed his shoulder, trying to bring heat back to it. Maybe he was just too warm...

"Did you sleep well?"

Malik jumped and looked across the dimly-lit room at the Prince, who had stood to his full height and was now glowering down upon his counterpart. His voice was lined with hard-edged jealousy, something that Malik could almost smell in the air. "Don't blame me for what she did." The entity snapped warningly.

"I'm not blaming anyone of anything." The Prince said evenly, striding across the room and digging decisively through a cupboard, at last drawing away with two wooden swords. He threw one at Malik, who caught it instinctively with an air of confusion. "We'll spar." The Prince explained shortly.

The blond-haired man bristled immediately and drew in a deep breath to voice his thoughts on 'sparring' in a noticeably loud fashion. Before he could erupt into shouts, however, Malik became aware that the other occupants of the cabin were still asleep... it wouldn't be wise to wake them.

Instead Malik followed the Prince outside, grumbling angrily until they were a fair distance away. "I can't spar, you _idiot_!" He hissed, throwing down his sword irritably. "I don't even use a sword! I don't know what you think you're doing, but–" Malik was cut off by a sharp blow to his shoulder, casting him onto the sand with a grunt. "You _fool_!" He cried in outrage. "I'm injured enough already from saving _your _princess!" He dodged another strike meant for his head and grabbed the wooden instrument he had thrown down, using it to catch the Prince's next strike, standing up hastily and looking to and fro.

"Listen to me, Prince!" Malik gasped, ducking another harsh attack and stumbling away, feeling his wound beginning to reopen. "You're being ridiculous and– Gods!" He caught the next strike with his own sword, and winced when the wood creaked ominously, sending a splinter into his face. "What. Is. Your. _Problem_?" He snarled, ignoring the blood that had begun to pour down his side as he began returning blows. His mind had fallen into a state of self-preservation as Malik began to fear that his opponent would kill him if given the opportunity.

The Prince parried the next swing and felt his sword connect with Malik's ribcage. His mind was dulled, and logic didn't seem to exist anymore– instead all he was aware of was the incessant desire to break the man before him, and to keep him away from Farah, and anyone else he cared about. "You are evil." The Prince snarled, landing another blow on Malik's torso, splitting the skin. "You don't deserve to live. You're the same monster you were before." As his opponent's eyes narrowed and Malik's swings became wider– less controlled, Prince smirked to himself. "And that bothers you, doesn't it?" A snarl wrought Malik's face in two.

"Don't speak of what you don't know!" The entity howled, bringing down his sword and feeling the shock of impact sear his muscles as both blades cracked into separate pieces.

Malik, in light of his rage, forwent the wooden mess and thrust his fist against the Prince's cheek, reveling in the noise it emitted. His tunic was soaked with blood, and as the two of them fell back into the sand, all that went through their minds was to strike anything that was in their line of vision. They were no longer warriors, for the battle had been degraded to a brawl.

One that Malik was inevitably going to lose as they tumbled down a sand dune and he was pinned beneath the Prince's larger frame. Though he strained magnificently, his arms were trapped beneath his larger counterpart's knees, and he could only feel the sensation of fists hitting his face and chest time and time again.

The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth, and it compelled Malik to close his eyes and allow the Sands to take over his body. The agony of the transformation ripped through his abdomen as he felt the world change. His pain lessened while the five senses were doubled– no, tripled.

He winced when the Prince gave a yell of pain, though Malik couldn't quite understand why– he hadn't even made a move to attack, in fact, he had only taken this form to keep himself from losing consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, however, Malik knew exactly why the Prince had cried out: His hands were encrusted with blisters from having so much as touched the dark being before him. A smile spread on Malik's lips unbidden, and without so much as another word, he reached out and effectively poked the Prince with his smallest finger, watching as an angry welt rose from the point.

He began to laugh softly, then louder and louder, reaching out again with his charcoal hand to swipe at his enemy. The shouts of pain sent shivers of delight through his being, and Malik fell into screams of mirth, allowing his conscious mind to fade into darkness as he watched burns spread over the Prince.

He wasn't aware of Farah and the Old Man behind him. He didn't feel the blows of the elder's cane against his back, nor Farah's pleas for his sanity to take over. The only thing he knew was that this game he played with the Prince was _fun_.

He did, however, feel a trickle of water across his back, and let loose a howl of rage, turning around with the Daggertail high in the air; ready to strike Farah down as her hand tightened around the waterskin.

All at once he felt the golden streaks across his body fading to deep red, however, his yellow eyes drooped half-closed and Malik felt his body swaying as the reverse transformation pulled the infection from his mind and body. A drop of blood fell from his lips and he was suddenly aware of the forming bruises along his body, though Sand had healed the gash upon his abdomen.

He looked up at the three surrounding him and felt his mouth drying into a desert. "Prince... I didn't... it wasn't..." The royal only walked past him, stopping briefly to land a painful kick against his back. The blisters upon his face were gruesome, and Malik felt a strange sensation engulfing his mind and body. Something that made his eyes burn as the Old Man followed suit and, with a deep frown, Farah as well.

Malik rose to his knees in the sand and felt the sun engulfing his back, warming the plain of skin as he stared down into his hands as if expecting an answer to be written there. Instead there were only his fingertips, five charcoal black, and the others excruciatingly pale. It made him sick, suddenly, to see the infection that had crept up his arm. A soft sound broke through Malik's throat and he buried his hands in his hair, pulling at the locks fruitlessly while screwing up his eyes.

He had to fix it. To right the wrong before the Prince tried to kill him in his sleep– Malik moaned again and laid his head against his knees, allowing the cool morning air to wash over him.

At last Malik stood up shakily, feeling the effects of his lack of energy as he stumbled towards the cottage, reaching a hand towards the door before stopping hesitantly to listen. He pressed his ear to the thin wall and sank into a crouch, feeling a frown spreading across his lips as the conversation within persisted.

"The burns are minor, My Prince, with no lasting harm."

Malik heard something shuffling back and forth, assuming it to be feet. "He tried to kill me." The Prince's voice seethed. "I knew no good could come from trusting him."

"I don't understand," Farah's voice cut in. "What was the cause of his transformation?" Malik mentally applauded her brief spurt of intelligence. "You suggested once that it only occurred under stress."

"He's a beast, Farah! We were only sparring and–"

"_Sparring?_ Gods, Prince, why would you spar with a wounded man?"

There was the sound of several containers being slammed into the floor, and Malik winced, sinking lower upon the wall. "Don't question me."

There was a long silence and Malik leaned closer to the wall, though he rather wished he hadn't when Farah's enraged screech rushed through the terrain. "_You've been drinking!_" The accusation hung in the air and he let himself sigh, enjoying the new experience of hearing her yell at someone else.

The following minutes were filled with more exclamations, the Prince's half-bodied defenses, and at last(And certainly not least in Malik's opinion) Farah hissed; "In your state, I don't put half so much blame on Malik!"

"He almost _killed _you!" The Prince cried.

Farah ran towards the door and swung it open viciously, leaving Malik to scramble away from her wrath and hide on the other side of the hut. "And _you_ left me to die yesterday!" She bellowed back, slamming the entrance closed and angrily storming blindly around the building before squawking indignantly when her knee met Malik's unsuspecting chin and she gracelessly plummeted onto the dirt by his side.

He reached over briefly, for a reason that was impossible to explain, but jerked his hand away when Farah gave a growl. "Don't touch me." She said softly, casting the entity a vicious glower. "Regardless of what you heard... I don't forgive what you did– to me, as well as the Prince." She let her head rest in her hands and gave a loud sigh. "How can we trust you?" Farah finally exclaimed bitterly. "If you lose control– Gods, Malik! You could kill us!"

He bowed his head and felt the burning sensation again in his eyes. "I know!" He said softly. "I know... I..." Malik sent his fist into the sand and looked at the resulting crater in strange fascination, rubbing it away after several moments. "I don't want it to happen again, but it will." He fixed Farah with a gaze more serious than normal, and he sighed. "The transformations will save us..."

Farah looked at him coldly. "How can you possibly defend that– and what you did!"

Malik leapt to his feet angrily and his eyes narrowed. "I am _not _defending what happened!" He snarled, "_What happened_ is exactly what I want to prevent!" He shook his head like a bothered dog and began to pace before Farah. "But I can't prevent it if your_ betrothed _starts attacking me whenever he feels jealous."

Farah frowned at him and looked away. "He wasn't in his right state of mind– you know that."

"He hates me, and he will kill me at the first chance." Malik sighed and leaned against the wall of the cabin. "I don't blame him, but I'm starting to think... that..."

"You would be better off on your own?"

Malik looked up at Farah in surprise and felt a smirk slipping onto his face at her slightly downcast expression. He wanted to forgo his own anger and depression, and so he quickly pursued the topic. "As a matter of fact, yes." He said loosely. "Why, you sound like you know what I'm talking about." He dropped onto his rump and boyishly propped his chin on his elbow, fixing Farah with a clever stare. "Would you like to elaborate?"

She looked at him suspiciously and began to scrape the sand into small clumps with her index finger. "It's none of your business." She snapped bitterly.

"Don't women need to talk about things to avoid spontaneous implosion?"

"That's not going to make me talk any faster."

Malik sighed. "You look miserable." He pointed out, gesturing to the deep frown upon her face, and Farah irritably pushed his finger away.

"I just finished saying that I haven't forgiven you for _almost killing me_ and you expect me to debrief you on my relationships?"

"I didn't even mention relationships. What's this new plot twist?" Malik laughed aloud when Farah flushed and tossed a handful of sand at him. He only waved his hand at her awkwardness.

She sighed loudly and sank against the wall, listening briefly to the silence inside the hut before looking back at Malik. "All you need to know is that... The Prince and I are experiencing some... complications." She blushed again when he chuckled. "If you're going to laugh, I refuse to say a word more!"

He only smiled teasingly. "What kind of complications?"

"It's none of your business."

"That's no way to treat someone who's trying to help."

Farah sighed. "Fine, he's just–"

She fell silent when a noticeable shiver ran up Malik's spine and they watched in fascination as a trickle of Sand escaped his lips, hovering in the air before melding back into his flesh. He looked instinctively towards Babylon and felt his mouth drop open in awe.

Dozens– no, _hundreds_ of Sand Beasts were rampaging closer, their bellowing cries scarcely audible through the distance. At their lead was a solitary black horse, upon which Malik recognized the familiar armor of Jamila. He squinted and felt panic rise in his throat. "We'll have to continue this discussion later..." He gasped. "Get the Prince."

Yet Farah stood transfixed on the horizon, watching in mounting horror as the monsters charged closer. "How?" She breathed. "In only hours!"

"Get the Prince!" Malik roared, shoving her towards the door. "And warn him that I've no time for bearing grudges!" The Daggertail slid free from his arm with a metallic hiss, scraping along the sand as the entity moved slowly away from the hut. The beasts would follow him...

A smirk broke his lips as the door opened and soon the Prince and Farah were up-in-arms at his side. The former bore the marks of his previous torment and a furious scowl, but his attention was transfixed upon the approaching swarm. "We cannot possibly defeat them all." The royal barked.

"We don't have to." Malik replied with a smirk. "We have the means to gamble our way out."

The Prince glared at him. "You're insane!"

"Yes, and that's what had kept us alive so far, isn't it?"

A laugh rose in his throat and Malik flicked the Daggertail into a ready position while he listened to the harmony of the King's Sword sliding from it's scabbard and Farah's bow being strung taut. From the hut he could feel the Old Man's eyes boring into him, but Malik only laughed louder.

At last the wave was upon them and as his companions battled for all they were worth, Malik let the Daggertail hang at his side while the horde of beasts encircled them. He watched Jamila look down upon the trio from her perch upon the charcoal horse, and she drew her blade slowly.

"I will repay you for the imperfection dealt to me." She hissed, and the scar upon her cheek seemed to glow with Sand.

Malik only relaxed his shoulders and let his eyes slip shut, letting a grin play across his face as he heard the unmistakable sound of a raised sword. After a moment he withdrew the Daggertail and fixed the Egyptian with an icy stare as the blade rushed down to meet his skull.


End file.
